ff) 

8 


The  Poems  of 
Frank  Dempster  Sherman 


CDttion 


THE  POEMS  OF 

FRANK  DEMPSTER 

SHERMAN 


EDITED 

WITH   AN  INTRODUCTION   BY 
CLINTON   SCOLLARD 


HOUGHTON    MIFFLIN    COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1887,  1890,  1892,  1897,  AND   1904,  BY  FRANK  DEMPSTER   SHERMAN 
COPYRIGHT,  1917,  BY  JULIET  DURAND   SHERMAN 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


THIS    EDITION,    PRINTED  AT   THE    RIVERSIDE   PRESS 
CAMBRIDGE,  IS  LIMITED  TO  ONE   THOUSAND  COPIES 
OF  WHICH  THIS  IS  NUMBER 


CONTENTS 

INTRODUCTION xv 

MADRIGALS  AND   CATCHES 

DEDICATION  — TO  MY  FATHER 2 

FANCY 3 

MORNING  MIST 4 

DAWN  AND  DUSK 4 

SUMMER 6 

INDIAN  SUMMER 7 

THE  ICE-PRISONER 8 

FEBRUARY        9 

THE  MARCH  WIND 9 

AN  APRIL  CAROL 10 

IDYLLIC II 

A  GLOW-WORM 12 

IN  AN  OLD  GARDEN 12 

WITH  A  ROSE 13 

TO  A  DAISY 14 

ON  SOME  BUTTERCUPS        .      .      .      .      .      .      ...      .15 

TO  A  DANDELION v    .      .  15 

APPLE  BLOSSOMS 16 

A  ROSE  LYRIC i? 

"PANSIES  FOR  THOUGHTS" .      .  18 

NOBILITY 18 

A  BUNCH  OF  QUATRAINS 18 

A  QUATRAIN 18 

A  RED  ROSE ip 

APRIL 19 

BACCHUS 19 

A  LYRIC 20 

[  V] 


48885':! 


CONTENTS 

A  CATCH 21 

A  SNARE 22 

A  MADRIGAL 23 

A  BETROTHAL 24 

A  PERSIAN  DANCING  GIRL 24 

A  MADRIGAL 25 

THE  BOOK-HUNTER 27 

AT  THE  DOOR 28 

A  REMINISCENCE 29 

LOVE'S  SEASONS 31 

AN  AVOWAL 32 

IN  PARENTHESIS 34 

TO  MY  MESSAGE 35 

A  CIGAR 36 

A  BUNDLE  OF  LETTERS      . 38 

A  RHYME  FOR  PRISCILLA        .      . 40 

A  PERSIAN  NOCTURNE        .      . 43 

HER  GUITAR 43 

THE  MUSE        .      .      .      . .45 

FOR  SAYNTE  VALENTYNE,  HIS  DAYE 47 

TO  CUPID,  FEBRUARY  14 48 

ENGAGED 49 

A  LYRIC . 51 

AN  UNTUTORED  MIND        . 52 

THE  VILLAGE  SCHOOL 53 

A  COLONIAL  MISSIVE     . 56 

GOOD-NIGHT 58 

SONNETS 59 

BREEZES  OF  MORNING 59 

A  PACIFIC  DAWN '  •      •  59 

A  BUTTERFLY  IN  WALL  STREET 60 

THE  DANCING  GYPSY 61 

STRATEGY 61 

RE-AWAKENING 62 

[  vi  ] 


CONTENTS 

MISS  THOMAS'S  "A  NEW  YEAR'S  MASQUE"  ....  63 

FRENCH  FOLLIES 64 

COME,  PAN,  AND  PIPE 64 

WHEN  TWILIGHT  COMES 64 

AN  OLD  RONDO 65 

BEHIND  HER  FAN 66 

HER  CHINA  CUP 66 

TO  CUPID 67 

"AWAKE,  AWAKE!" 68 

TO  MY  LOVE 68 

VALENTINE  TO  AN  ANONYMOUS  MISS 69 

A  COQUETTE 71 

A  SWELL 72 

OF  RHYME • 73 

TO  AUSTIN  DOBSON 74 

LYRICS  FOR  A  LUTE 

FANCY 77 

TO  FANCY 79 

THE  HARBOR  OF  DREAMS 79 

BREATH  OF  SONG 80 

OMAR  KHAYYAM 82 

REVERY .'.....  83 

AT  MIDNIGHT 85 

ISRAFEL 85 

BACKLOG  DREAMS 86 

SORCERY 88 

MOTHS 88 

ON  A  GREEK  VASE 89 

MOODS 90 

FULFILMENT 91 

MNEMOSYNE'S  MIRROR 92 

TIME'S   SONG 93 

ATTAINMENT 93 

[  vii  ] 


CONTENTS 

ALLAH'S  HOUSE 95 

PERPETUITY 95 

QUATRAINS 97 

SUNRISE  97 

MOONRISE 97 

A  HOLLYHOCK 97 

WINTER'S  BEGGAR 98 

CONTRAST 98 

SUN  AND  MOON 98 

SURF  MUSIC 98 

LYRICS 99 

LOVE 100 

AN  OLD  SONG 100 

THE  LAST  LETTER  / 101 

PEPITA 103 

HER  SMILE  HIS  SUNLIGHT 104 

TO  A  ROSE 106 

UNDER  HER  BALCONY 106 

AD  ASTRA 107 

CONTENTMENT 108 

HELIOTROPE 109 

VALENTINES no 

ON  A  CLOCK 112 

TO  WINTER 113 

HIS  STARLIGHT  .....' 114 

UNSPOKEN 115 

SONG 116 

THE  NUN'S  ROSE 117 

MEMORIES 118 

DIRGE H9 

NOCTURNE I20 

REMEMBRANCE 121 

NATURE 122 

A  GREETING  FOR  SPRING 122 

I  viii  ] 


CONTENTS 

NOONTIDE 125 

THE   SKY-SHIP 126 

A  WOODLAND  SPRING 126 

THE  NAIAD'S  CUP 128 

ETERNITY  LANE 129 

STORM 130 

IN  THE  CLOVER 131 

WINTER  STARLIGHT 133 

DAYBREAK 134 

BOOKS 135 

ASPIRATION I3S 

THE  FLY-LEAF  TO  THE  READER 136 

THE  LIBRARY 13? 

FORGOTTEN  BOOKS * 139 

TO  HIS  BOOK 140 

LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS 

TO  THE  LITTLE  READERS        .      .      .      ...      .      .      .      .145 

BLOSSOMS 146 

ANEMONE  . 147 

DAISIES 147 

SPRING  'S  COMING 148 

GOLDEN-ROD 148 

JANUARY 149 

FEBRUARY 150 

MARCH w 150 

APRIL 151 

MAY 152 

JUNE 153 

JULY 154 

AUGUST 155 

SEPTEMBER 155 

OCTOBER 156 

NOVEMBER 157 

[  ix] 


CONTENTS 

DECEMBER 158 

KING  BELL      . 159 

IN  THE  MEADOW 160 

FAIRY  JEWELS 161 

THE  FOUR  WINDS 162 

HUMMING-BIRD   SONG 163 

PEBBLES 164 

IN  THE  ORCHARD 164 

A  REAL  SANTA  CLAUS 165 

CHERRIES 166 

FLYING  KITE 168 

KRISS   KRINGLE 168 

WIZARD   FROST 169 

THE  JUGGLER 170 

A   FAIRY  STORY 171 

THE  SHADOWS 172 

HIDE-AND-SEEK 173 

THE  ARCHER 174 

A  FUNNY  FELLOW '     .      .  174 

SPINNING  TOP  175 

SMILES  AND  TEARS 176 

THE  CANARY 176 

CLOUDS 177 

LEAVES  AT  PLAY 178 

SHADOW  PICTURES 179 

GHOST  FAIRIES 180 

SONG  FOR  WINTER 181 

A  DEWDROP 182 

JESTER  BEE 183 

SNOWFLAKES 184 

DREAMS 184 

MAY-CHILDREN 186 

ROBIN'S  APOLOGY 187 

SOLDIERS  OF  THE  SUN 187 

[  X  ] 


CONTENTS 

SNOW  SONG 188 

THE  RAIN-HARP 189 

ELFIN  LAMPS 190 

BIRDS'  MUSIC 190 

SHADOW  CHILDREN 191 

FAIRY  SHIPWRECK 192 

BEES 192 

THE  WATERFALL "...  193 

LULLABY 193 

WINTER'S  ACROBATS 194 

VACATION  SONG 196 

THE  SNOW-BIRD 197 

THE  FAIRIES'  DANCE 197 

THE  ROSE'S  CUP 198 

THE  SNOW-WEAVER 199 

THE  STORY-TELLER 200 

THE  RAINBOW 203 

THE  STORY  OF  OMAR 204 

THE  CHRISTMAS  CAT 205 

LYRICS  OF  JOY 

FANCY 209 

CONFESSION .    ,.  .   .      .      .211 

WITCHERY          . .      .      -    .      .211 

DIES  ULTIMA 212 

A  TEAR  BOTTLE 213 

THE  DAY'S  SHROUD 214 

A  SEA  GHOST 215 

A  BIRD'S  ELEGY 215 

SECRET 216 

THE  POET 217 

THE  CHARM 217 

HIS  DESIRE 218 

THE  MUSE 219 


CONTENTS 

THE  INTERPRETER • 220 

HARRO 221 

WITH  HERRICK 223 

CANOE  SONG 224 

A  GARLAND 225 

A  PRAYER 228 

NATURE 229 

THE  YEAR'S  DAY 229 

ARBUTUS 229 

VIOLET 230 

APRIL 231 

MAY  MORNING 232 

HONEYSUCKLES 233 

WINTER  DREAMS 234 

WHITE  MAGIC 234 

FOOTPRINTS  IN  THE  SNOW  .      ; 235 

NANTUCKET 236 

LOVE 240 

TO  JULIET 240 

ROSE  LORE 241 

THE  BOWER  OF  CUPID 242 

MOONLIGHT  AND  MUSIC 244 

IN  ABSENCE 246 

FOR  MUSIC 247 

LOVE'S  SPRINGTIDE 247 

TO  HER 247 

MY  APRIL 248 

A  MAY  MADRIGAL 249 

NOCTURNE 250 

MEMORIES 251 

A  SONG'S  ECHO 252 

WITH  ROSES 252 

TWO  SONGS 253 

SONNETS 255 

[  xii] 


CONTENTS 

SAINT  ROSE 255 

SURF  MUSIC 255 

TO  A  MOCKING  BIRD 256 

MUSIC 257 

THE  SHOWER 257 

THE  WINTER  POOL 258 

BETRAYAL 258 

THE  SNOW'S  DREAMER 259 

THE  CATHEDRAL  BELLS 260 

QUATRAINS 261 

DAWN 261 

STORM 4  .  .  .  261 

DUSK .  .  .  ...  .261 

STARLIGHT 261 

A  SEA  FANCY 262 

MASTERY 262 

DERELICT .  •'•'.-  •  •  •  262 

FOG 262 

THE  PENALTY 263 

LIFE 263 

THE  GOAL 263 

KNOWLEDGE 263 

IN  A  GARDEN .  ...  .  .  .  .264 

IVY ' .  .  264 

GRASS .  .  .  .  264 

ROSE ...«'.....  .264 

DAY  DREAM 265 

FIRE  FANCIES 265 

CITY  SPARROWS 265 

WRIT  IN  WATER 265 

CONTRAST 266 

A  WISH 266 

UNCOLLECTED  POEMS 

THE  LOOM  OF  SONG 269 

[  xiii  ] 


CONTENTS 

ECHO 269 

THE  BROOK  ACCOMPANIMENT 270 

MOONLIGHT 271 

THE  FORTRESS  OF  SAN  MARCO 271 

THE  FAMILIAR  MELODY 272 

TWILIGHT 272 

ROMANCE 273 

BROADWAY  AT  MIDNIGHT 274 

THE  END  OF  AUTUMN 274 

THE  LONELY  ROOM 275 

ON  A  BRONZE  MEDAL  OF  LINCOLN 276 

FOR  POPPIES 276 

GIPSY 277 

EXPERIENCE 278 

LABOR  OMNIA  VINCIT 279 

AUTUMN  LEAVES 279 

THE  TREE  TAVERN 280 

NOCTURNE 281 

A  FIRST  EDITION 282 

THE  HOUSE  OF  DREAMS 284 

LIMITATION 285 

THE  IMMORTAL  FLOWER 285 

INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 289 

INDEX  OF  TITLES 297 


INTRODUCTION 

IN  the  year  1633,  there  landed  in  Boston  two  brothers, 
Samuel  and  Philip  Sherman,  whose  ancestor,  in  di 
rect  line,  was  one  Thomas  Sherman,  Gentleman,  a  man 
of  parts  and  prominence  in  Diss,  County  Norfolk,  Eng 
land,  during  the  reign  of  Henry  VII.  It  was  from  the 
younger  of  these  two  brothers,  Philip,  a  person  of  note 
in  his  day,  he  having  been  the  first  Secretary  of  the 
Colony  of  Portsmouth,  Rhode  Island,  that  Frank 
Dempster  Sherman  was  descended. 

The  poet  was  born  in  Peekskill,  New  York,  on  May 
6,  1860,  being  the  oldest  of  a  family  of  nine  children. 
His  father  was  John  Dempster  Sherman,  an  educator 
and  bookman,  and  his  mother,  Lucy  MacFarland,  of 
Scotch  ancestry.  Mr.  Sherman  passed  his  boyhood 
days  in  his  native  town,  where  he  received  his  prelimi 
nary  education  at  the  Peekskill  Military  Academy. 
For  a  time,  just  before  entering  college,  he  was  secre 
tary  to  Mr.  William  de  Caindry,  of  Washington,  who 
was  connected  with  the  War  Department.  He  entered 
Columbia  University  in  the  autumn  of  1879,  complet 
ing  his  course  in  1884,  being  compelled,  on  account 
of  ill-health,  to  drop  back  a  class.  He  was  one  of  the 
first  graduates  of  the  School  of  Architecture,  a  depart 
ment  founded  by  Professor  William  R.  Ware.  At 
Harvard  University  he  passed  a  year  in  post-graduate 
study,  but  was  obliged  to  give  this  up  owing  to  the 

[xv] 


INTRODUCTION 

physical  breakdown  of  his  father.  Through  the  influ 
ence  of  Professor  Ware,  he  was  made  a  Fellow  in 
Architecture  at  Columbia  in  1887.  At  this  institution 
he  was  in  turn  instructor  (1888),  adjunct  professor 
(1891),  and  Professor  of  Graphics  (1904).  The  last- 
named  position  he  held  at  his  death,  which  occurred 
on  the  1 9th  of  September,  1916.  On  the  i6th  of  No 
vember,  1887,  he  married  Juliet  Mersereau  Durand, 
of  Peekskill. 

Of  his  attainments  as  an  instructor  one  of  his  col 
leagues  has  said  :  "  In  the  School  of  Architecture  Pro 
fessor  Sherman  was  not  merely  an  extraordinarily  bril 
liant  lecturer  on  mathematical  subjects,  but  also  the 
guide,  counselor,  and  friend  of  his  students.  His  work 
will  live  in  the  lives  of  hundreds  of  those  whom  he 
inspired,  and  in  the  progress  and  development  of  the 
School,  for  which  more  than  once,  in  times  of  per 
plexity  and  uncertainty,  his  wise  counsels  and  clear 
headed  vision  had  proved  of  inestimable  value." 

Another  of  Mr.  Sherman's  University  associates 
(Professor  Franklin  H.  Giddings)  tenders  this  cor 
dial  tribute:  "To  those  who  knew  Frank  Dempster 
Sherman  in  the  intimacy  of  colleagues  the  trait  that 
marked  him  was  his  cheerful  faithfulness  to  day-by- 
day  duty.  As  a  teacher  he  gave  himself  without  stint, 
and  from  students  he  demanded  knowledge  and  accu 
racy.  His  own  exquisite  workmanship  was  more  than 
talent ;  it  was  also  fidelity.  His  genius  for  tireless  re 
search  and  relentless  verification  made  his  exhaustive 
genealogy  of  the  Sherman  kindred  a  work  that  will 
[xvi] 


INTRODUCTION 

be  cited  for  generations  as  a  standard-setting  achieve 
ment.  For  kindred  and  friends  nothing  that  he  could 
give  was  too  good,  and  sacrifice  of  time  and  strength 
was  a  thing  of  course.  He  would  help  another  fellow 
to  get  the  right  start  in  professional  work  or  in  author 
ship  with  an  enthusiasm  that  was  tireless.  And  all 
these  things  he  did  and  was  because  his  helpful  living 
had  in  it  the  quality  of  his  own  Lyrics  of  Joy.  I  never 
heard  him  called  '  Professor '  among  his  colleagues,  and 
rarely  *  Sherman.'  To  everybody  he  was  '  Frank '  or 
'Dempster.'" 

In  addition  to  his  activities  as  poet  and  professor, 
and  his  comprehensive  and  untiring  genealogical  re 
searches,  Mr.  Sherman  was  an  enthusiastic  philatelist 
and  collector  of  book-plates.  His  skill  as  a  draughts 
man  led  him  latterly  into  book-plate  designing,  where 
he  might  easily  have  distinguished  himself  had  he 
cared  to  do  so.  More  than  one  editor  has  attested  to 
his  delight  in  receiving  Mr.  Sherman's  manuscripts, 
for  his  chirography  was  like  copper-plate,  as  any  one 
may  discern  who  cares  to  examine  his  remarkable  rec 
ords  of  the  Sherman  family  now  preserved  in  the 
genealogical  department  of  the  New  York  Public  Li 
brary. 

Mr.  Sherman  was  a  poet  of  moods.  After  long  pe 
riods  of  silence,  the  shores  of  Nantucket,  the  seclusion 
of  the  Catskills,  the  pine  groves  of  the  Carolinas,  the 
quaintness  of  St.  Augustine  streets,  would  move  him 
to  sudden  and  sustained  bursts  of  song.  Furthermore, 
he  left  behind  him  a  mass  of  ungathered  material  (not 
[  xvii  ] 


INTRODUCTION 

contained  in  the  present  volume),  printed  under  vari 
ous  pen-names,  facile,  witty,  and  possessed  of  a  gra 
cious  charm,  that  is  practically  unrivaled  in  American 
poetry.  While  at  Columbia  he  was  a  contributor  to, 
and  one  of  the  editors  of,  the  Acta  Columbiana;  at 
Harvard  he  wrote  both  for  the  Advocate  and  the  Lam 
poon  ;  and  later  his  name  was  frequently  seen  in  all 
the  prominent  periodicals  of  the  country. 


Hie  habitat  felicitas  !  Render  this  Latin  phrase  as 
you  will,  in  a  broad  or  a  restricted  sense,  it  applies 
with  singular  fitness  to  the  poetry  of  Frank  Dempster 
Sherman.  Looking  into  the  crystal  of  life,  the  scenes 
that  were  most  actively  and  vividly  presented  to  his 
imagination  were  those  of  beauty  and  happiness,  and 
of  these  he  sang  with  an  unfailing  clarity  and  charm. 
From  first  to  last  a  firm  believer  in  art,  he  never  mis 
took  this  much  misunderstood  term  for  artifice.  Early 
to  recognize  his  limitations,  it/was  thus  that  he  pro 
claimed  his  credo :  — 

In  nature's  open  book 

An  epic  is  the  sea; 
A  lyric  is  the  brook; 

Lyrics  for  me! 

So  while  he  was  an  ardent  admirer  of  all  that  is  high 
est  and  truest  in  English  poetry  from  Chaucer  down, 
it  was  that  which  is  strictly  lyrical  that  exercised  for 
him  the  most  potent  appeal. 

When    Mr.  Sherman   began  writing,    Longfellow, 
[  xviii  ] 


INTRODUCTION 

Whittier,  and  Lowell  were  still  living,  and  the  great 
est  of  the  Victorians  were  in  full  voice.  From  none  of 
these  men,  however,  did  he  draw  any  appreciable  in 
spiration  ;  nor  had  Keats  or  Shelley,  to  both  of  whom 
he  was  enthusiastically  devoted,  a  noticeable  influence 
upon  his  style.  He  was  an  inheritor  rather,  at  least 
in  his  more  serious  moods,  of  that  gallant  band  of 
cavaliers  who  sat  at  the  feet  of  Ben  Jonson,  and  wore 
their  lovelocks  long,  and  jested  and  sang  in  the  gar 
dens  of  Whitehall  in  the  time  of  the  ill-fated  Charles 
the  First. 

If  one  attempts  to  trace  Mr.  Sherman's  poetic  an 
cestors,  it  is  to  Herrick  and  Lovelace  and  Carew 
among  the  elders,  and  to  Aldrich  and  Dobson  among 
the  moderns,  that  he  owed  the  most.  But  upon  what 
ever  he  inherited  from  these  poets  he  set  his  own  in 
dubitable  seal  of  individuality.  No  verse-maker  has 
yet  written  who  has  not  quaffed  from  some  already 
flowing  fount  of  song.  If  a  Shakspere  may  glean  in 
the  field  of  a  Kyd  or  a  Marlowe,  another  of  lesser  and 
narrower  power  may  rightfully  find  something  appro 
priate  for  his  uses  among  his  literary  forbears. 

II 

In  those  verses  which  might  properly  be  termed 
Juvenilia,  from  which  no  selection  was  made  in  choos 
ing  the  material  for  his  first  volume,  Mr.  Sherman 
showed  the  same  sense  of  form,  the  same  mastery  of 
technic,  that  characterized  all  his  later  utterances. 
With  him  this  matter  appears  to  have  been  intuitive. 

[  xix  ] 


INTRODUCTION 

One  notes  no  groping  after  a  medium  of  expression, 
no  immaturity  in  handling  the  thought,  as  is  the  case 
with  many  a^  youthful  writer. 

Madrigals  and  Catches,  the  poet's  earliest  venture 
in  bookmaking,  is  instinct  with  a  debonair  spirit.  No 
initial  volume  by  any  singer  is  more  buoyant  or  more 
blithe. 

How  easy  'tis  to  write  a  rhyme! 

lilts  this  gay  devotee  of  the  Muses.  How  easy  indeed 
for  so  merry-hearted  a  troubadour!  Here  are  many 
things  airy  and  amatory.  Youth,  exuberant  youth, 
sings,  with  no  pose  of  age.  Sentiment  ?  yes,  but  with 
out  a  touch  of  mawkishness.  All  is  simple,  sincere, 
and  spontaneous.  Latterly  Mr.  Sherman  expressed 
regret  not  infrequently  that,  at  the  outset,  he  should 
have  won  recognition  and  no  small  reputation  as  a 
writer  of  what  Mr.  Stedman  once  aptly  styled  "  Patri 
cian  Rhyme."  This  feeling  on  his  part,  however,  seems 
unwarranted,  for  he  was  a  master  of  Society  Verse. 
Far  more  welcome  oftentimes  the  gay  Benedict  than 
"  the  moody  Dane ; "  and  pleasant  it  is,  on  occasion, 
to  turn  from  the  stern  gravity  of  Milton  or  the  lofty 
earnestness  of  Wordsworth  to  the  bonhommie  of 
Praed  and  Locker.  So  the  charm  in  the  gay  aban 
don  of  such  pieces  as  Sherman's  "  Engaged,"  "  An 
Avowal,"  and  "  Her  Guitar  "  is  undeniable. 

In  the  days  of  Madrigals  and  Catches,  the  so-called 
"  French  Forms  "  were  fascinating  many  poets  in  Eng 
land  and  America.  Experimenting  in  these  restricted 
[xx] 


INTRODUCTION 

limits,  Mr.  Sherman  achieved  no  little  success.  Indeed 
it  may  be  doubted  if  such  "  Follies  "  (this  was  the 
poet's  name  for  them)  as  "Behind  Her  Fan,"  "  Her 
China  Cup,"  and  "Awake,  Awake,"  have  been  equaled 
by  any  writer  save  Mr.  Dobson. 

Ill 

Passing  over  the  "  clever  fooling  "  in  a  volume  enti 
tled  New  Waggings  of  Old  Tales,  written  in  conjunc 
tion  with  John  Kendrick  Bangs,  we  find  our  poet  com 
ing  fully  to  his  own  in  Lyrics  for  a  Lute.  Here,  in  the 
opening  poem,  he  puts  this  question :  — 

Is  there  any  fetter  strong 

That  will  hold  you,  soul  of  song  ? 

Whatever  that  fetter  may  be,  Mr.  Sherman  had  dis 
covered  it,  for  this  whole  volume  breathes  the  "  soul 
of  song."  In  it,  however  varied  the  theme,  —  love, 
nature,  books,  —  the  art  is  perfect,  the  music  magical. 
The  freshness  of  youth  has  not  been  left  behind,  but 
with  it  is  blended  maturity.  There  is  youth  in  "  Her 
Smile  His  Sunlight,"  but  there  is  an  older  vision  in 
such  an  exquisite  lyric  as  "  Remembrance." 

Day  to  my  heart 
With  you  comes  always  fair; 
When  you  depart 

'T  is  twilight  there. 

Then  love  unbars 
The  door  of  dreams  for  me, 
And  lights  the  stars 
Of  memory! 
[  xxi  ] 


INTRODUCTION 

It  is  a  wider  experience,  too,  out  of  which  grew  the 
brief  poem  "At  Midnight,"  in  which  such  an  unusual 
and  beautiful  metaphor  is  embodied. 

See,  yonder,  the  belfry  tower 

That  gleams  in  the  moon's  pale  light ! 

Or  is  it  a  ghostly  flower 

That  dreams  in  the  silent  night  ? 

I  listen  and  hear  the  chime 

Go  quavering  o'er  the  town, 

And  out  of  this  flower  of  Time 

Twelve  petals  are  wafted  down. 

It  may  be  said  that  in  Lyrics  for  a  Lute  Mr.  Sher 
man  first  shows  himself  a  true  nature-lover,  and,  in 
some  degree,  an  interpreter.  In  sheer  lyrical  sweep 
and  rapture  "  A  Greeting  for  Spring  "  may  be  set  side 
by  side  with  Mr.  Carman's  lovely  "Mother  April." 

No  one  save  an  enamored  hunter  after  first  editions 
could  have  written  the  book  poems  which  close  this 
volume.  No  verses  upon  a  library  could  be  happier 
than  those  beginning,  — 

Give  me  a  room  where  every  nook 
Is  dedicated  to  a  book; 

and  no  couplet  could  be  finer  or  more  tender  than  the 
following,  in  the  final  selection,  addressed  to  one  who 
throughout  much  of  the  poet's  life  meant  to  him  both 
inspiration  and  aspiration  :  — 

Her  praise  is  inspiration's  breath; 
Her  scorn  were  aspiration's  death! 

[  xxii  ] 


INTRODUCTION 

IV 

Were  one  making  up  a  shelf  of  poetry  for  children, 
there  are  two  books  that,  at  the  beginning,  one  would 
unhesitatingly  choose.  These  are  Stevenson's  Child's 
Garden  of  Verses  and  Sherman's  Little-Folk  Lyrics ; 
and  it  would  be  purely  a  matter  of  taste  which  to  place 
first,  for  each  has  its  own  especial  merit  and  charm. 
In  Little-Folk  Lyrics  Mr.  Sherman  comes  very  near 
to  the  heart  of  childhood,  the  ability  to  do  which  is  a 
unique  gift.  In  imagination  he  never  goes  so  far  that 
the  youthful  mind  may  not  accompany  him.  He  writes 
not  about  juvenility,  but  for  it,  and  does  not  mistake 
the  childish  for  the  childlike.  Everywhere  he  is  cheery, 
suggestive,  fanciful.  In  turn  delicate,  sprightly  or  hu 
morous,  he  leads  the  little  folk  on  through  the  months 
of  the  year  amid  birds,  blossoms,  fruit,  and  snowflakes. 
It  would  be  a  strange  child  who  would  not  be  beguiled 
by  these  delightful,  these  winsome,  verse-pictures  ;  for 
in  each,  whatever  be  the  theme,  there  is  that  mixture 
of  fact  and  ideality,  the  sights  and  sounds  and  inci 
dents,  which  characterize  and  illuminate  the  child- 
drama. 

V 

Mr.  Sherman's  last  book  (with  the  exception  of  a 
slight  volume,  A  Southern  Flight,  published  jointly 
with  a  friend)  was  Lyrics  of  Joy,  which  appeared  in 
1904.  In  its  pages,  as  many  times  previously,  the  note 
of  happiness  is  dwelt  upon,  but  now  with  a  touch  of 
gravity,  as  seen  in  the  closing  stanza  of  "  Confession." 
[  xxiii  ] 


INTRODUCTION 

So  all  my  lyrics  sing  of  joy, 

And  shall  until  my  lips  are  mute; 

In  old  age  happy  as  the  boy 
To  whom  God  gave  the  lute. 

There  is,  moreover,  now  and  again  a  shadow,  a  chord 
of  pathos,  which  serves  by  contrast  to  add  a  bright 
ness  to  the  poetic  conception.  This  may  be  discerned 
in  such  pieces  as  "  Dies  Ultima  "  and  "  A  Tear  Bottle," 
more  especially  in  the  latter  which  tells  of  the  glass 
wherein  the  tears  of  a  Greek  girl  fell  two  thousand 
years  ago.  We  sense  a  certain  poignant  regret  in 
reading  — 

Long  is  Art,  but  Life  how  brief! 

And  the  end  seems  so  unjust  — 
This  companion  of  her  grief 

Here  to-day,  while  she  is  dust! 

It  was  Mr.  Sherman's  frequent  claim  that  the  son 
net  was  a  form  in  which  he  failed,  but  his  experiments 
with  it  hardly  justify  his  contention.  "  A  Butterfly  in 
Wall  Street,"  with  its  vivid  last  line,  — 

You  are  a  type  of  their  uncertain  gold, 
will  compare  favorably  with  the  best  American  son 
nets  ;  and  in  Lyrics  of  Joy  and  among  the  Uncollected 
Poems  are  other  instances  of  his  skill  in  nurturing  the 
"  lovely  flower  of  fourteen  perfect  petals." 

VI 

During  the  last  six  years  of  his  life,  Mr.  Sherman 
wrote  no  poetry.   After  a  summer  of  unusual  produc 
tivity,  spent  in  one  of  the  most  delightful  vales  of  the 
Catskills,  he  became  intensely  absorbed  in  the  gene- 
[  xxiv  ] 


INTRODUCTION 

alogy  of  the  Sherman  family,  the  outcome  of  which 
remains  to-day  a  marvel  of  industry  and  achievement. 
Although  he  grew,  without  reason,  to  consider  him 
self  a  part  of  the  past,  he  never  lost  interest  in  the  art 
which,  for  so  long  a  time,  had  been  nearest  to  his  heart. 

Vital  and  exceptionally  brilliant  as  an  instructor 
and  lecturer  in  the  realm  of  architecture,  he  was  no 
less  illumining  when  he  spoke  of  poetry.  From  the 
days  of  his  early  enthusiasms  when,  walking  at  twilight 
under  the  Cambridge  elms,  he  would  improvise  sonnet, 
rondeau,  or  ballade  with  an  ease  that  was  the  despair 
of  those  less  versatile,  until  the  last  weeks  before  the 
end,  his  ability  to  discriminate  between  the  true  "and 
false  in  verse  was  as  remarkable  as  it  was  unerring. 
Although  in  practice  he  was  a  precisian,  his  likings 
and  sympathies  were  broad. 

In  all  Mr.  Sherman's  poetry  there  is  a  fine  certitude, 
an  inevitableness.  He  fashioned  an  epigram  with  the 
same  surety  with  which  a  carver  cuts  an  intaglio.  His 
vision  was  never  clouded.  Along  whatsoever  ways  he 
led,  the  paths  were  unobscured  by  an  illusory  haze. 
Many  are  his  fancies  and  figures,  and  each  is  definite 
and  sharp  of  outline.  As  another  has  said,  his  poems 
have  a  compactness  and  completeness  of  organism 
that  make  them  memorable.  When  more  ambitious 
verse  has  been  forgotten,  it  would  not  be  surprising 
if  some  of  Mr.  Sherman's  exquisite  lyrics  would  hold 
their  place  in  the  thought  and  memory  of  our  children's 
children. 

CLINTON  SCOLLARD. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Madrigals  and  Catches.    White,  Stokes  &  Allen, 
New  York,  1887. 

New  Waggings  of  Old  Tales.    (With  John  Kendrick 
Bangs.)     Ticknor  &  Company,  Boston,  1887. 

Lyrics  for  a  Lute.     Houghton  Mifflin  Company, 
Boston,  1890. 

Little  Folk  Lyrics.     Houghton  Mifflin   Company, 
Boston,  1892. 

Lyrics  of  Joy.     Houghton  Mifflin  Company,  Boston, 
1904. 

A     Southern    Flight.      (With    Clinton    Scollard.) 
George  William  Browning,  Clinton,  New  York,  1905. 


MADRIGALS   AND   CATCHES 


TO   MY   FATHER 

Madrigals  and  catches  caught 
In  the  cage  of  Happy-thought 
Are  these  amatory  rhymes; 
Reveries  of  olden  times 
When  my  heart  was  ever  bent 
After  some  new  sentiment, 
Veering  like  a  ship  at  sea 
With  the  tides  of  melody, 
Trembling  like  the  stars  above 
With  each  last-discovered  love. 

These  are  songs  for  gladsome  youth. 
Half  in  jest  and  half  in  truth  ; 
Lyrics  light  as  gales  that  toss 
Leaves  the  orchard  floor  across,  — 
Lyrics  gay  as  carols  sung 
Blossom-laden  vines  among  ;  — 
All  pitched  in  a  major  key  — 
Catch  and  madrigal  and  glee  : 
Songs  whose  inspiration  came 
In  the  constant  leaping  flame 
Of  my  love  for  Her  whose  eyes 
Look  on  us  from  Paradise, 
And  my  love  for  you  whose  heart 
Gave  Love's  mariner  the  chart 
That  he  might  find  only  joy  — 
Only  joy  for  me,  your  boy. 


MADRIGALS  AND  CATCHES 


FANCY 

LIFT  the  oars  and  let  us  go 
Whither  listless  winds  may  blow, 
Drifting  idly  with  the  tide, 
Kissing  grasses  either  side,  — 
Skimming  deeps  that  lie  between 
Bending  willow-branches  green : 
On,  and  on,  and  on  we  '11  float 
With  no  pilot  for  our  boat 
Save  the  zephyr,  cool  and  bland, 
Lisping  from  the  launching-land,  — 
Guided  by  no  stars  above,  — 
Only  lucent  eyes  of  love. 
Sailing,  we  at  last  shall  reach 
Silver  sands  of  island  beach, 
Where  a  seaward-blown  perfume 
Hints  of  orchard  fruit  and  bloom. 
In  this  golden  ocean-isle 
Let  us  wander  for  a  while, 
Plucking  from  its  treasure-trees 
Apples  of  Hesperides. 


[3) 


MADRIGALS   AND   CATCHES 


MORNING   MIST 

ACROSS  the  level  meadow-land 
There  hangs  a  veil  of  vapor  white, 
Like  some  forgotten  robe  of  night 
Held  in  the  morning's  rosy  hand. 

Along  the  grass  the  wind-waves  run, 
And  wake  the  witches'  weird  refrain : 
"  Behold  the  ghost  of  last  night's  rain  I " 

And  lo,  it  melts  before  the  sun  I 

Then  comes  a  rustle  in  the  wood, 
As  if  upon  the  leaves  were  cast 
A  sudden  spell,  —  the  ghost  has  passed 

Into  their  shadowed  solitude  I 


DAWN   AND   DUSK 


SLENDER  strips  of  crimson  sky 
Near  the  dim  horizon  lie, 
Shot  across  with  golden  bars 
Reaching  to  the  fading  stars ; 
Soft  the  balmy  west  wind  blows 
Wide  the  portals  of  the  rose ; 
Smell  of  dewy  pine  and  fir, 
Lisping  leaves  and  vines  astir ; 

[4 1 


DAWN   AND   DUSK 

On  the  borders  of  the  dark 
Gayly  sings  the  meadow-lark, 
Bidding  all  the  birds  assemble,  — 
Hark,  the  welkin  seems  to  tremble ! 
Suddenly  the  sunny  gleams 
Break  the  poppy-fettered  dreams,  — 

Dreams  of  Pan,  with  two  feet  cloven, 
Piping  to  the  nymph  and  faun, 

Who,  with  wreaths  of  ivy  woven, 
Nimbly  dance  to  greet  the  dawn. 

II 

Shifting  shadows  indistinct ; 
Leaves  and  branches,  crossed  and  linked, 
Cling  like  children,  and  embrace, 
Frightened  at  the  moon's  pale  face. 
In  the  gloomy  wood  begins 
Noise  of  insect  violins  ; 
Swarms  of  fireflies  flash  their  lamps 
In  their  atmospheric  camps, 
And  the  sad-voiced  whip-poor-will 
Echoes  back  from  hill  to  hill, 
Liquid  clear  above  the  crickets, 
Chirping  in  the  thorny  thickets, 
Weary  eyelids,  eyes  that  weep, 
Wait  the  magic  touch  of  sleep ; 

While  the  dew,  in  silence  falling, 
Fills  the  air  with  scent  of  musk, 

And  this  lonely  night-bird,  calling, 
Drops  a  note  down  through  the  dusk. 
[  5  ] 


MADRIGALS  AND   CATCHES 


SUMMER 

MEADOWS  lost  in  clouds  of  mist ; 
Grass  whose  lips  the  dew  has  kissed ; 
Buds  whose  fragrant  breath  is  drawn 
Through  the  freshness  of  the  dawn ; 
Vines  in  whose  slight  pulses  flows 
Life-blood  of  the  crimson  rose ; 
Flocks  of  happy-hearted  birds 
Talking  in  melodious  words ; 
Brooks,  unfettered  by  the  Spring, 
Through  the  pastures  murmuring,  — 
Children  prattling  in  their  glee 
Chasing  to  the  mother  sea ; 
Soft  south-breezes,  —  gentle  rain,  — 
Rival  wooers  of  the  plain ; 
Here  and  there  beside  the  path 
Flowers  emerging  from  their  bath ; 
Waving  forest-floods  of  green, 
Leaves  with  blossoms  white  between. 


Ah !  the  bud  is  open  now, 
Hints  of  fruit  hang  on  the  bough, 
And  the  velvet  rose  is  born 
At  the  coming  of  the  morn : 
There 's  a  gladness  in  the  sun 
Speaks  of  something  new  begun,  - 
[  6] 


INDIAN   SUMMER 

Of  a  work  mysterious 
Nature  has  performed  for  us. 
Hark !  the  honey-bee's  low  hum 
Tells  us  that  the  summer 's  come  1 


INDIAN    SUMMER* 

ACROSS  the  billowy  meadow  grasses 
The  Summer  passes  with  languid  tread, 
And  where  she  journeys  the  path  is  burning, 
And  leaves  are  turning  to  brown  and  red. 

She  goes  in  silence  across  the  valley 
Where  low  winds  rally  around  her  track 

And  touch  her  garment  and  murmur,  "  Maiden, 
With  roses  laden  come  back,  come  back !  " 

She  does  not  heed  them,  she  does  not  listen ; 

Her  soft  eyes  glisten  with  welling  tears; 
Her  heart  grows  heavy  for  not  replying 

To  verdure  dying,  —  to  prayers  she  hears. 

But  once,  in  sorrow,  she  turns  and  lingers 
To  kiss  the  fingers  fast  growing  cold, 

And  all  the  Earth  for  a  moment 's  pleasure 
Yields  up  her  treasure  of  yellow  gold. 


MADRIGALS  AND  CATCHES 


THE   ICE-PRISONER 

ABOVE,  —  a  dome  of  gray  ;  below,  — 
The  landscape  carpeted  with  snow : 
No  bird  so  warmly  clad  or  bold 
Who  dares  to  brave  the  bitter  cold. 
I  find  within  the  silent  wood 
A  solitude  of  solitude. 
Through  leafless  trees  no  breeze  is  blown 
To  hint  that  I  am  not  alone,  — 
No  echo  cracks  the  crystal  air: 
The  world  about  me  seems  to  wear 
A  look  of  peaceful  loneliness, 
Remembering  the  soft  caress 
Of  summer  winds  that  robbed  the  flowers, 
And  music  measuring  the  hours. 
Throughout  the  land  the  hush  of  death ! 
I  breathe,  and,  lo,  —  the  ghost  of  breath ! 
The  crisp  snow  crunches  'neath  my  tread 
Like  fallen  twigs  and  branches  dead. 

But  hark !  Along  the  frozen  ground 
I  catch  a  muffled  liquid  sound, — 
A  voice  that  sings  of  Paradise, 
Low  murmuring  in  walls  of  ice,  — 
A  melody  that  seems  to  run 
To  find  again  the  truant  sun. 
I  hear  the  fettered  pulses  stir 
Of  winter's  happy  prisoner 
[8] 


THE   MARCH   WIND 

Whose  merry  song  and  laughter  bring 
A  thought  of  the  returning  spring, — 
Of  buds  and  grass  with  warm  rain  wet, 
And  April's  early  violet. 

FEBRUARY 

LIKE  mimic  meteors  the  snow 
In  silence  out  of  heaven  sifts, 
And  wanton  winds  that  wake  and  blow 
Pile  high  their  monumental  drifts. 

And  looking  through  the  window-panes 
I  see,  'mid  loops  and  angles  crossed, 

The  dainty  geometric  skeins 

Drawn  by  the  fingers  of  the  Frost. 

T  is  here  at  dawn  where  comes  his  Love, 
All  eager  and  with  smile  benign,  — 

A  golden  Sunbeam  from  above,  — 
To  read  the  Frost's  gay  valentine. 

THE   MARCH   WIND 

BLOW,  wind  of  March,  and  sing 
Your  songs  unto  the  timid  buds  and  grass; 
Unclasp  the  fetters  of  the  woodland  spring 
Hushed  in  its  house  of  glass. 

Blow,  wind  of  March,  and  thrill 

The  languid  pulses  of  the  barren  trees, 

[9] 


MADRIGALS  AND  CATCHES 

Until  their  empty  hands  with  blossoms  fill 
And  tempt  the  honey-bees. 

Blow,  wind  of  March,  and  wake 

The  sleeping  violets  with  gentle  words ; 

Spread  your  green  canopy  of  leaves  and  make 
A  shelter  for  the  birds. 

Blow,  sturdy  wind  of  March, 

And  burst  the  winter's  frosty  prison-bars ; 
Blow  all  the  clouds  from  heaven's  azure  arch 

And  stud  it  with  white  stars. 

Blow,  wind  of  March,  aye,  blow, 

Until  the  orchards  heed  your  voice,  and  bloom ; 
Then  whisper  softly  where  the  wild  flowers  grow 

About  the  winter's  tomb. 


AN   APRIL   CAROL 

APRIL! 
Robin,  sing  to  greet  her ; 
Down  the  meadow  dart  to  meet  her ! 
See,  she  brings  the  leaf  and  flower, 
Fickle  sun  and  fickle  shower, 
Gives  the  day  another  hour, 
Makes  the  breezes  sweeter. 

April ! 

Maidens,  lend  your  faces 
Dimpled  smiles  and  gentle  graces ! 
[10] 


IDYLLIC 

See,  she  brings  the  blue-bells'  chimes, 
Tardy  lovers  with  their  rhymes, 
Steals  her  days  from  warmer  climes, 
Nights  from  dewy  places. 

April ! 

Song,  be  blithe  and  tender ; 

Music,  sound  with  double  splendor ! 
See,  she  brings  the  warbling  birds, 
Troops  of  bees  and  dappled  herds, 
Teaches  love  mysterious  words, 

Bids  the  heart  surrender. 

IDYLLIC 

*T*O  lie  beneath  a  cloudless  sky 

A       On  moss  beside  a  shallow  brook 
Where  smells  of  wild-flowers  in  the  dells 

Make  me  forgetful  of  my  book, — 
To  dream  of  shepherd  with  his  crook, 

Of  sheep  on  grassy  slopes  asleep,  — 
To  catch  a  visionary  look 

Of  shepherdess,  and  hear  her  step 
Fall  like  a  whisper  on  the  ground,  — 

To  watch  her  sunny  smiles,  and  see 
Her  dainty  garments,  soft  and  snowy, 

Fold  gracefully  her  form  around,  — 
'T  is  like  a  day  in  Sicily 

With  Daphnis  and  his  sweetheart  Chloe. 


MADRIGALS  AND  CATCHES 


A   GLOW-WORM 

CLOSE  by  the  margin  tufts  of  grass 
Weighed  down  with  dew  and  damp, 
I  found  you  as  I  chanced  to  pass, 
Your  trimmed  and  shining  lamp 
Illumining  with  greenish  light 
The  dusty  road  in  dusky  night : 

A  velvet  ring  set  round  with  gems 

That  softly  shone  below 
The  pale  blue  chicory's  tall  stems, 

As  if  the  path  to  show 
To  some  belated  beetle  who 
Went  stumbling  homeward  in  the  dew : 

A  phosphorescent  beacon  there,  — 

A  solitary  guide 
For  insect  ships  that  sail  the  air 

On  breaths  of  fragrant  tide  ; 
Or  were  you  from  some  realm  on  high 
A  star  dropped  from  the  summer  sky  ? 

IN   AN   OLD    GARDEN 

THREE  giant  fir-trees  reach  their  arms 
To  shade  this  quiet  garden  plot, 
And  here  and  there  a  fragrant  knot 
Of  roses  tempts  the  buzzing  swarms. 

[    12] 


WITH   A   ROSE 

Amid  a  host  of  alien  weeds 
Spring  faces  of  familiar  blooms 
Which,  breathing  stories  in  perfumes, 

Seem  ghosts  of  some  forgotten  seeds. 

The  creeping  vine,  its  tendrils  round 
The  crooked  rows  of  untrimmed  box, 
Forsaken  now,  methinks  it  knocks 

To  gain  admittance  to  the  ground. 

All,  all  is  waste  and  desolate, — 
The  blowing  firs  are  full  of  grief, 
The  blue-bird  hidden  by  a  leaf 

Sings  sorrowfully  to  his  mate. 

The  scattered  flowers  alone  are  gay ; 
Their  fragrance  fills  the  gentle  wind, 
And  I,  grown  drowsy,  dream  and  find 

The  long  forgotten  yesterday. 

,         WITH    A   ROSE 

A  TINY  fire  within  this  rose 
Lends  to  the  leaves  a  crimson  flush 
Like  that  soft  tint  which  comes  and  goes 
And  weaves  a  modest  maiden's  blush. 

So  to  my  Sweet  this  censer  bloom 
Swung  by  Love's  little  acolyte 

I  send,  that  all  its  fine  perfume 

May  float  around  her  through  the  night. 
[  13  1 


MADRIGALS  AND  CATCHES 

Go,  Rose,  unto  my  heart's  desire, 

Perchance  her  love  for  you  may  frame 

A  dream  of  Cupids  in  a  choir 
All  chanting  lyrics  to  her  name. 

And  when  the  dream  shall  end  at  last, 
A  priceless  gift  shall  be  your  fee,  — 

To  feel  her  kisses  falling  fast 
Upon  your  lips  for  love  of  me. 

TO    A    DAISY 

WEE,  little  rimless  wheel  of  Fate, 
With  silver  spokes  and  hub  of  yellow, 
What  gentle  girl,  in  accents  mellow, 
Has  sought  your  aid  to  find  a  mate  ? 

Who  snapt  your  slender  spokes  apart, 

Each  one  some  dear  acquaintance  naming  ? 
And  who  was  he  —  the  loved  one,  claiming 

The  choicest  chamber  in  her  heart  ? 

O  tiny  hub  of  golden  hue, 

Kissed  by  her  fingers'  tender  pressing, 
Still  yet,  methinks,  she  's  vainly  guessing 

If  what  you  prophesied  were  true. 

You  died  between  her  finger-tips, 
Sweet  gypsy  maid  of  wisdom  magic ; 
Pray,  is  it  worth  a  death  so  tragic 

To  hear  the  music  of  her  lips  ? 
[  14  1 


TO   A   DANDELION 


ON    SOME   BUTTERCUPS 

\    LITTLE  way  below  her  chin, 
JlY.     Caught  in  her  bosom's  snowy  hem, 
Some  buttercups  are  fastened  in,  — 

Ah,  how  I  envy  them  1 

They  do  not  miss  their  meadow  place, 
Nor  are  they  conscious  that  their  skies 

Are  not  the  heavens  but  her  face, 
Her  hair  and  tender  eyes. 

There,  in  the  downy  meshes  pinned, 
Such  sweet  illusions  haunt  their  rest, 

They  think  her  breath  the  fragrant  wind, 
And  tremble  on  her  breast ; 

As  if,  close  to  her  heart,  they  heard 

A  captive  secret  slip  its  cell, 
And  with  desire  were  sudden  stirred 

To  find  a  voice  and  tell ! 

TO   A   DANDELION 

LITTLE  mimic  of  the  sun, 
Hiding  in  the  fragrant  grass, 
Have  you  any  kisses  won 

From  the  pretty  maids  who  pass  ? 
When  the  sun  slips  down  the  west 
[  15  1 


MADRIGALS  AND  CATCHES 

Some  fair  girl  shall  come  in  quest 
Of  the  secret  which  you  lock 

In  your  tiny  golden  breast : 
You  shall  hear  an  airy  knock, 
And  a  question :  What  o'clock  ? 

Ah,  you  dainty,  snowy  ghost, 

See  what  bliss  your  wisdom  brings ! 

Tell  me,  pray,  what  angels  boast 
Such  a  zephyr  for  their  wings  ? 

Just  because  the  hour  you  tell, 

She  repays  your  magic  well, — 
Wafts  you  off  to  paradise ; 

Sounds  for  you  a  gentle  knell ; 

Lights  your  journey  with  her  eyes : 
Would  that  I  were  half  so  wise ! 

APPLE   BLOSSOMS 

THE  soft  wind  whispered  secrets  to  the  apple  tree, 
Caressed  her  in  his  arms  and  would  not  let 

her  go 
Until  the  rosy  blossoms  came  triumphantly 

To  tell  the  one  sweet  message  that  he  wished  to 
know. 

A  timid  maiden  with  her  lover  lingered  there 

In  silence,  clasping  hands  amid  the  leaves  that  fell, 

Till  one  bold  blossom  drifting  down  the  perfumed  air 
Just  touched  her   rounded   cheek,  and   bade   the 
blushes  tell. 


A   ROSE   LYRIC 


A   ROSE   LYRIC 

ROSE  in  the  garden-close, 
Why,  when  the  light  wind  blows, 
Why  do  you  bend  your  head  ? 
Why  do  your  cheeks  grow  red  ? 
Rose,  my  sweet,  —  rose  at  my  feet, 
Tell  me ! 

What  does  the  soft  gale  say 
Whispering  low  all  day,  — 

Kissing  your  lips  a-bloom, 

Answering  back  perfume  ? 
Rose,  my  sweet,  —  rose  at  my  feet, 
Tell  me ! 

Tell  me  that  I  may  woo 

Her  as  the  wind  wooes  you ; 
What  are  the  words  that  start 
Blushes  from  your  sweet  heart? 

Rose,  my  sweet,  —  rose  at  my  feet, 
Tell  me ! 

Rose,  of  all  roses,  queen, 
Budding  at  seventeen, 

Place  the  flower  near  your  lip, 

Then,  if  the  secret  slip, 
Rose,  my  Sweet,  —  Rose,  at  your  feet, 
Tell  me! 


MADRIGALS  AND  CATCHES 
"PANSIES  FOR   THOUGHTS " 

FOR  you  these  tiny  flowers  are  cut,  — 
These  slender-stemmed,  rich  purple  pansies  ; 
A  thousand  thoughts  and  tender  fancies 
Within  their  little  hearts  are  shut. 
Sweet  memories  of  happy  hours 

We  spent  together,  —  dear  romances,  — 
Like  love  in  one  of  Cupid's  glances, 
Hide  in  the  fragrance  of  these  flowers. 

NOBILITY 

E  sturdy  wind  that  fills  the  ship's  white  sail 
A       And  turns  the  mighty  mill-wheel  when  it  blows, 
Once  breathed  the  love-song  of  the  nightingale, 
And  wafted  him  the  perfume  of  the  rose. 

Let  him  who  seeks  a  god-like  man  to  find 
Think  of  the  wind,  and  seek  its  counterpart : 

The  tempest's  strength,  matched  by  a  noble  mind, 
The  zephyr  by  a  pure  and  gentle  heart ! 


H 


A   BUNCH    OF   QUATRAINS 

A  QUATRAIN 

ARK  at  the  lips  of  this  pink  whorl  of  shell 


And  you  shall  hear  the  ocean's  surge  and  roar 
So  in  the  quatrain's  measure,  written  well, 
A  thousand  lines  shall  all  be  sung  in  four ! 
I  18  ] 


BACCHUS 


A  RED   ROSE 

ONCE,  long  ago,  in  some  sweet  garden's  hush, 
A  lover  gave  you,  snow-white,  to  his  love : 
And,  lifted  to  her  lips,  you  saw  her  blush 

And  blushed  to  match  her  damask  cheek  above. 

APRIL 

AS  any  child,  this  baby  of  the  year's 
Made  glad  with  toys,  forgets  imagined  woes : 
Thus  comes  young  April  smiling  through  her  tears, 
Her  toys  the  flowers,  her  grief  the  vanished  snows. 

BACCHUS 

T     ISTEN  to  the  tawny  thief, 
I  ^  Hid  behind  the  waxen  leaf, 
Growling  at  his  fairy  host, 
Bidding  her  with  angry  boast 
Fill  his  cup  with  wine  distilled 
From  the  dew  the  dawn  has  spilled : 
Stored  away  in  golden  casks 
Is  the  precious  draught  he  asks. 

Who,  —  who  makes  this  mimic  din 
In  this  mimic  meadow  inn, 
Sings  in  such  a  drowsy  note, 
Wears  a  golden-belted  coat ; 
I  19] 


MADRIGALS  AND  CATCHES 

Loiters  in  the  dainty  room 
Of  this  tavern  of  perfume  ; 
Dares  to  linger  at  the  cup 
Till  the  yellow  sun  is  up  ? 

It  is  Bacchus  come  again 
To  the  busy  haunts  of  men ; 
Garlanded  and  gayly  dressed, 
Bands  of  gold  about  his  breast ; 
Straying  from  his  paradise, 
Having  pinions,  angel-wise,  — 
'T  is  the  honey-bee,  who  goes 
Reveling  within  a  rose ! 

A   LYRIC 

A  LYRIC  is  a  tiny  bird,  — 
Gay  lover  of  the  garden  blooms, 
Whose  little  heart  is  ever  stirred 
By  colors  and  perfumes. 

Its  flights  are  near  the  lowly  things, 
Not  to  the  eagle-epic's  skies : 

It  is  content  to  flash  its  wings 
Beneath  my  loved  one's  eyes. 

Go  then,  my  song,  you  have  the  chart 
To  guide  you  to  a  gentle  clime,  — 

Go  build  your  nest,  and  thrill  her  heart 
With  flutterings  of  rhyme  ! 
[20] 


A   CATCH 


A    CATCH 

IF  any  grace 
To  me  belong, 

In  song, 

Know  then  your  face 
Has  been  to  me 

A  key; 

For  pitched  in  this 
Delicious  tone, 
I  've  known 
I  could  not  miss 
What  music  slips 
Your  lips. 

If  faults  be  found 
In  any  line 
Of  mine, 

To  mar  the  sound 
Of  notes  that  try 

To  vie 

With  yours,  my  Sweet, 
Then,  always  true, 

Do  you 

The  words  repeat, 
And  make  sublime 
My  rhyme ! 


[21] 


MADRIGALS  AND  CATCHES 

A    SNARE 

LOVE  I  locked  upon  a  time 
In  the  fetters  of  my  rhyme, 
Bound  his  feet  and  fixed  his  hands 
Firm  in  fancy -forged  bands, 
Fastened  with  a  dainty  twist 
Couplet-gyves  around  his  wrist. 
Sealed  his  lips  and  left  him  dumb, 
Prisoner  till  She  should  come. 

Then  I  said  unto  my  Heart  : 
"  By  this  magic,  by  this  art, 
You  shall  learn  if  She  be  kind 
To  your  constancy,  or  blind : 
Like  the  rhyme  your  chains  are  stout 
Captive  in  the  dungeon  Doubt, 
There  you  languish  at  the  door 
Praying  freedom  evermore. 

If  She  pity  Love's  distress, — 
If,  with  maiden  tenderness, 
She  his  bands  and  fetters  slip, 
Murmuring  with  trembling  lip 
Linked  music  of  my  song,  — 
Be  of  cheer ;  for  then,  erelong, 
At  your  bars  her  face  you  '11  see,  — 
Then  the  lock  shall  feel  the  key 
Turn  its  rusty  round,  —  and  then, 
Love  know  liberty  again !  " 
[22] 


A   MADRIGAL 


A   MADRIGAL 

ALL  the  world  is  bright, 
All  my  heart  is  merry, 
Violets  and  roses  red, 

Sparkling  in  the  dew : 
Brow  —  the  lily 's  white ; 

Lip  —  the  crimson  berry; 
Hark,  I  hear  a  lightsome  tread,  — 
Ah,  my  love,  't  is  you ! 

Wing  to  me,  birds,  and  sing  to  me ; 

None  so  happy  as  I ! 
Only  the  merriest  melodies  bring  to  me 

When  my  beloved  is  by. 

All  the  air  is  sweet, 

All  my  heart  is  quiet, 
Fleecy  clouds  on  breezes  warm 

Floating  far  above : 
Eye  —  where  soft  lights  meet ; 

Cheek  —  where  roses  riot ; 
Look,  I  see  a  gracious  form,  — 

Ah,  't  is  you,  my  love  I 

Wing  to  her,  birds,  and  sing  to  her ; 

None  so  happy  as  she  1 
Only  the  merriest  melodies  bring  to  her, 

Only  this  message  from  me ! 
[23] 


MADRIGALS  AND  CATCHES 


A   BETROTHAL 

"  T  LOVE  you,"  he  whispered  low, 
JL     In  joy,  for  a  moment  bold  ; 
And  suddenly,  white  as  snow, 
The  warm  little  hand  grew  cold. 

"  I  love  you,"  again  he  said, 

And  touched  the  soft  finger-tips ; 
But  shyly  she  bent  her  head, 
To  hide  the  two  trembling  lips. 

"I  love  you,"  —  she  turned  her  face. 

His  heart  overfilled  with  fear ; 
When  lo,  on  her  cheek  the  trace 
Of  one  tiny  passion-tear ! 

"  I  love  you,"  he  gently  spoke, 

And  kissed  her,  sweet,  tearful-eyed ; 
The  rose-blossom  fetters  broke : 
"I* love  you,  too,"  they  replied. 


A   PERSIAN   DANCING   GIRL 

JASMINES  tangled  in  her  hair  — 
Ebon  hair  that  loosely  hangs, 
Looped  with  silver  serpent  fangs, 
Swaying  in  the  scented  air. 
[24] 


A   MADRIGAL 

Silken  sandals  on  her  feet  — 
Tiny  feet  that  trip  in  time 
To  the  tambourine,,  and  rhyme 

With  the  tinkling  music  sweet. 

On  her  olive-tinted  breast, 

Turquoise  trinkets,  jewels,  rings  — 
Lovers'  tokens  —  gifts  from  kings, 

Jingle  gayly,  never  rest. 

Now  she  gives  a  dizzy  twirl 

To  the  measure  of  the  dance  — 
Quicker  than  a  stolen  glance, 

Glides  the  dainty,  graceful  girl. 

Just  beyond  the  eager  throng 
Lazily  her  lover  smokes 
With  his  rivals,  telling  jokes 

Spiced  with  strains  of  Persian  song. 

Idly  waiting  —  well  he  knows 
How  they  hate  him,  every  one. 
In  the  garden  of  the  Sun 

He  has  picked  the  fairest  rose. 

A   MADRIGAL 

SWEETHEART,  the  year  is  young, 
And  'neath  the  heavens  blue 
The  fresh  wild-flowers  have  hung 
Their  cups  to  catch  the  dew, 
[25] 


MADRIGALS  AND  CATCHES 

And  love  like  a  bird  carols  one  soft  word, 
Sweetheart,  to  the  sapphire  skies ; 

And  floating  aloft  comes  an  echo  soft 
"  Sweetheart "  —  your  eyes ! 

Sweetheart,  the  year  is  sweet 
With  fragrance  of  the  rose 
That  bends  before  your  feet 
As  to  the  gale  that  blows. 
And  love  like  a  bird  quavers  one  low  word, 

Sweetheart,  to  the  garden  place : 
And  across  the  glow  comes  an  echo  low 
"  Sweetheart ' '  —  your  face  I 

Sweetheart,  the  year  grows  old ; 

Upon  the  meadows  brown 
And  forests,  waving  gold, 

The  stars  look,  trembling,  down. 
And  love  like  a  bird  whispers  one  pure  word, 

Sweetheart,  to  the  cooling  air ; 
And  the  breezes  sure  waft  an  echo  pure 
"  Sweetheart " — your  hair ! 

Sweetheart,  the  year  wanes  fast ; 
The  summer  birds  have  flown 
From  winter's  spiteful  blast 

Unto  a  sun-bound  zone. 
And  love  like  a  bird  warbles  one  clear  word, 

Sweetheart,  to  the  balmy  south ; 
And  back  to  my  ear  comes  an  echo  clear 
"  Sweetheart "  —  your  mouth ! 
[26] 


THE   BOOK-HUNTER 

Sweetheart,  the  year  is  gone ;  — 

Lean  closer  to  my  heart  1 
Time  only  weighs  upon 

The  loves  that  dwell  apart. 
And  love  like  a  bird  with  his  whole  soul  stirred, 

Sweetheart,  shall  carol  his  glee ; 
And  to  you  I  '11  cling  while  the  echoes  ring 
"  Sweetheart"  —  for  me  ! 


THE   BOOK-HUNTER 

A  CUP  of  coffee,  eggs,  and  rolls, 
Sustain  him  in  his  morning  strolls : 
Unconscious  of  the  passers-by, 
He  trudges  on  with  downcast  eye ; 
He  wears  a  queer  old  hat  and  coat, 
Suggestive  of  a  style  remote ; 
His  manner  is  preoccupied,  — 
A  shambling  gait,  from  side  to  side. 
For  him  the  sleek,  bright-windowed  shop 
Is  all  in  vain,  —  he  does  not  stop. 
His  thoughts  are  fixed  on  dusty  shelves 
Where  musty  volumes  hide  themselves,  — 
Rare  prints  of  poetry  and  prose, 
And  quaintly  lettered  folios,  — 
Perchance  a  parchment  manuscript, 
In  some  forgotten  corner  slipped, 
Or  monk-illumined  missal  bound 
In  vellum  with  brass  clasps  around ; 

[27] 


MADRIGALS  AND  CATCHES 

These  are  the  pictured  things  that  throng 
His  mind  the  while  he  walks  along. 

A  dingy  street,  a  cellar  dim, 
With  book-lined  walls,  suffices  him. 
The  dust  is  white  upon  his  sleeves ; 
He  turns  the  yellow,  dog-eared  leaves 
With  just  the  same  religious  look 
That  priests  give  to  the  Holy  Book. 
He  does  not  heed  the  stifling  air 
If  so  he  find  a  treasure  there. 
He  knows  rare  books,  like  precious  wines, 
Are  hidden  where  the  sun  ne'er  shines ; 
For  him  delicious  flavors  dwell 
In  books  as  in  old  Muscatel ; 
He  finds  in  features  of  the  type 
A  clew  to  prove  the  grape  was  ripe. 
And  when  he  leaves  this  dismal  place, 
Behold,  a  smile  lights  up  his  face ! 
Upon  his  cheeks  a  genial  glow,  — 
Within  his  hand  Boccaccio, 
A  first  edition  worn  with  age, 
" Firenze"  on  the  title-page. 

AT  THE  DOOR 

T  T  THAT  time  the  night-bird  to  the  rose 
V  V       Sings  of  his  love, 
I  seek  her  garden-plot  where  grows 
A  blossom-laden  vine  that  throws 
Its  arms  above, 

[28  1 


A  REMINISCENCE 

And  scales  the  weary  stretch  of  stone, 

Until  at  length 

It  clasps  her  lattice  open  thrown, 
And  sees  the  sweet  face  of  my  own, 

And  finds  new  strength. 

How  often  I  have  strived  to  climb 

Love's  barrier  wall 
Upon  the  ladder  of  my  rhyme : 
A  little  way,  —  yet,  time  on  time, 

I  faint  and  fall. 

Methinks  if  once  I  could  but  rise 

Up  to  the  bars, 

And  gather  courage  from  those  eyes 
To  speak  —  so  close  unto  the  skies  — 

Unto  the  stars  — 

Alas,  my  fancy  goes  no  more ! 

Perhaps  't  would  be 
As  if,  with  weary  feet  and  sore, 
I  came  to  Heaven's  closed  door 

Without  a  key. 

A   REMINISCENCE 

THERE  was  a  time,  fond  girl,  when  you 
Were  partial  to  caresses ; 
Before  your  graceful  figure  grew 
Too  tall  for  ankle-dresses ; 

[29] 


MADRIGALS  AND  CATCHES 

When  "  Keys  and  Pillows,"  and  the  rest 

Of  sentimental  pastimes, 
Were  thought  to  be  the  very  best 

Amusement  out  of  class-times. 

You  wore  your  nut-brown  hair  in  curls 

That  reached  beyond  your  bodice, 
Quite  in  the  style  of  other  girls,  — 

But  you  I  thought  a  goddess ! 
I  wrote  you  letters,  long  and  short, 

How  many  there  's  no  telling  1 
Imagination  was  my  forte :  — 

I  can't  say  that  of  spelling  1 

We  shared  our  sticks  of  chewing-gum, 

Our  precious  bits  -of  candy ; 
Together  solved  the  knotty  sum, 

And  learned  the  ars  amandi: 
Whene'er  you  wept,  a  woeful  lump 

Stuck  in  my  throat,  delayed  there  I 
My  sympathetic  heart  would  jump  :  — 

I  wondered  how  it  stayed  there  I 

We  meet  to-day,  —  we  meet,  alas ! 

With  salutation  formal ; 
I  'm  in  the  college  senior  class, 

You  study  at  the  Normal ; 
And  as  we  part  I  think  again, 

And  sadly  wonder  whether 
You  wish,  as  I,  we  loved  as  when 

We  sat  at  school  together  1 

[30] 


LOVE'S   SEASONS 
LOVE'S   SEASONS 

TWAS  spring  when  I  first  found  it  out ; 
'T  was  autumn  when  I  told  it ; 
The  gloomy  winter  made  me  doubt, 
And  summer  scarce  could  hold  it : 
"  She  loves,"  the  mating  robins  sang 

In  sweet,  delicious  trebles, 
And  through  the  brooks  the  echo  rang 
In  music  o'er  the  pebbles. 

The  fresh  air,  filled  with  fragrant  scent 

Of  blossoms,  softly  hinted 
The  self-same  song ;  where'er  I  went 

I  found  the  message  printed 
On  bud  and  leaf,  on  earth  and  sky ; 

Through  sun  and  rain  it  glistened, 
And  though  I  never  reasoned  why, 

I  always  read  or  listened. 

The  summer  dawned,  and  still  the  birds 

Sang  in  their  tree-top  glory, 
And  something  seemed  to  make  their  words 

A  sequel  to  my  story : 
"  You  love,"  they  twittered  in  the  trees ; 

Whene'er  the  light  wind  stirred  them,  — 
Distracting  words !  —  on  every  breeze 

They  fluttered,  and  I  heard  them. 

At  last  the  mellow  autumn  came, 
And  all  the  leaves  were  turning, 

[31 1 


MADRIGALS  AND  CATCHES 

The  fields  and  forests  were  aflame 

In  golden  sunlight  burning ; 
The  parting  birds  sang  out  again 

A  sentimental  message ; 
"  Go  tell  her,"  whispered  they,  and  then 

I  thought  't  was  love's  first  presage. 

O  timid-hearted  twenty-four, 

To  faint  and  lose  your  courage, 
Or  half-reluctantly  implore 

A  pretty  girl  at  her  age ! 
For  when  I  stammered  what  they  'd  sung, 

And  all  their  secrets  told  her, 
She  said  the  birds  were  right,  and  hung 

Her  head  upon  my  shoulder. 


AN  AVOWAL 

THERE  'S  a  word  in  my  heart,  dare  I  tell  it  ? 
A  dangerous,  wonderful  word : 
It  calls,  and  I  hush  it  and  quell  it ; 

It  flutters  and  calls  like  a  bird 
Made  captive  from  out  its  dark  prison, 

And  begs  for  a  glimmer  of  light ; 
Up,  up  to  my  throat  it  is  risen, 
And  poises  for  flight. 

Her  eyes  are  like  stars  softly  shining, 
Each  one  has  a  sparkle  within ; 
[32] 


AN  AVOWAL 

And  radiant  roses  are  twining 

In  cheeks  where  my  kisses  have  been. 

But  something  of  sadness  and  sorrow, 
A  shadowy  emblem  of  doom, 

Seems  whispering,  "  Wait  for  the  morrow !  " 
And  leaves  me  in  gloom. 

One  touch  of  her  exquisite  fingers, 

One  pressure  of  velvety  tips, 
In  memory's  mazes  still  lingers ; 

One  kiss  is  still  fresh  on  my  lips. 
But  down  in  my  heart  in  a  flutter 

A  bird  dwells  to  tenderly  sing 
The  song  that  my  lips  dare  not  utter, 

The  song  of  a  ring,  — 

A  ring  wrought  of  gold,  with  a  jewel 

Imbedded  within  it  that  tries 
To  flash  back  the  soft  or  the  cruel 

Light  locked  in  her  beautiful  eyes. 
Will  she  wear  it,  I  wonder,  a  token 

Of  all  that  my  heart  holds  so  fast 
That  the  fetters  remain  yet  unbroken 

And  firm  to  the  last  ? 

There  it  comes !  What  a  ghost  of  a  shiver 
Just  ran  through  my  stammering  tongue ! 

And  down  in  my  heart  there  's  a  quiver 
Of  something  that  ought  to  be  sung. 
[33l 


MADRIGALS  AND  CATCHES 

One  word  —  ah,  my  darling,  you  know  it ; 

The  long  captive  songster  has  flown ! 
Love  —  love  —  is  the  burden ;  the  poet 

Loves  you  —  you  alone ! 


IN   PARENTHESIS 

I  READ  the  verses  from  my  copy, 
A  bunch  of  fancies  culled  from  Keats, 
A  rhyme  of  rose  and  drowsy  poppy, 

Of  maiden,  song,  and  other  sweets : 
The  lines  —  so  patiently  I  penned  them, 

Without  one  sable  blot  or  blur  — 
I  knew  had  music  to  commend  them 
And  all  their  secret  thoughts  to  her. 

She  heard  the  rhythmical  romanza, 

And  made  a  comment  there  and  here ; 
I  read  on  to  the  final  stanza, 

Where  timid  love  had  made  me  fear. 
A  long  parenthesis  ;  the  metre 

Went  lamely  on  without  a  foot, 
Because  the  sentiment  was  sweeter 

Than  love  emboldened  me  to  put. 

Alas,  I  tried  to  fill  the  bracket ; 

The  truant  thought  refused  to  come ! 
The  point,  —  to  think  the  rhyme  should  lack  it ! 

My  wakeful  conscience  struck  me  dumb. 
[34] 


TO   MY   MESSAGE 

She  took  the  little  leaf  a  minute,  — 
Ah,  what  a  happy  time  was  this ! 

The  bracket  soon  had  something  in  it, 
I  kissed  her  in  parenthesis. 

TO   MY   MESSAGE 

WHEN  in  her  lap  you  lie, 
Little   note, 

Look  upward  to  your  sky — 
A  tender,  mild  blue  eye, 

A  round,  rose-colored  throat, 
An  exquisite  white  chin 
With  one  star-dimple  in : 
Look  upward  from  her  lap's 
Soft  pillow,  and  perhaps 

You  may  see 
Her  think  of  me. 

And  if  by  happy  chance, 

Letter  mine, 

You  see  her  blue  eyes  glance 
Across  your  smooth  expanse, 

Or  fixed  upon  the  line 
Which  rhymes  with  all  the  love 
Reflected  there  above, 

Grieve  not  that  you  are  dumb  ; 

But  think  that  I  shall  come 
Once  again,  — 

Your  spokesman  then. 

[35] 


MADRIGALS  AND  CATCHES 

Ah  me !  would  I,  like  you, 

Missive  slight, 

Might  watch  those  clear  eyes  blue, 
That  throat  and  white  chin,  too, 

And  read  them  all  aright,  — 
Might  feel  the  red  lips  touch 
My  own,  —  I  'd  give  —  how  much  ! 

Just  once  to  take  your  place, 

My  paradise  her  face 

And  a  part 
Of  her  dear  heart. 


A   CIGAR 

A, ONE  I  puff  soft  wreaths  of  blue 
That  frame  a  most  delightful  view  ; 
A  little  library  with  two 

Together  sitting : 

A  youth  and  girl.  Upon  her  knees 
A  novel  with  a  hero ;  he  's 
A  ghostly  circumstance  to  these 
Quaint  wraps  she  's  knitting. 

The  lover  holds  the  worsted,  and 
Just  touches  one  fair  pinky  hand : 
How  well  her  bright  eyes  understand ! 

For  soon,  unbidden, 
Two  scarlet  lips  begin  to  move 
A  conversation  in  that  groove 
[361 


A   CIGAR 

Where  chosen  words  quite  clearly  prove 
The  subject  hidden. 

And  then  the  knitting  's  laid  aside ; 

The  needle  's  dropped ;  and  some  sweet  guide 

Leads  both  his  hands  to  haply  hide 

Two  others  whiter. 
I  listen,  and  a  mellow  note 
Slips  through  the  rosy,  rounded  throat : 
I  hear  the  happy  lover  quote 

The  novel's  writer. 

The  writer,  —  ah,  what  kind  fates  come 

To  keep  harsh  criticism  from 

His  little  book :  perhaps  't  is  some 
Such  situation ;  — 

A  picture  similar  to  this, 

Portraying  a  brief  spell  of  bliss, 

And  punctuated  with  a  kiss- 
Interrogation. 

I  see  the  faces  slowly  meet, 
And  shy,  uncertain  glances  greet : 
The  knitting  's  fallen  to  her  feet ; 

And  on  his  shoulder 
Her  head  in  golden  glory  lies, 
While,  fathoming  her  lovely  eyes, 
He  reads  the  tenderest  replies,  — 

Love  growing  bolder. 

(371 


MADRIGALS  AND  CATCHES 

But,  while  I  dream  in  idleness, 
And  wonder  whether  she  will  bless 
His  hearing  with  a  whispered  "yes/1 

With  drooping  lashes ; 
The  picture  fades  from  sight  afar 
As  pales  at  morn  a  silver  star ; 
I  seek  the  light  of  my  cigar, 

And  find  but  ashes. 

A   BUNDLE   OF   LETTERS 

STRANGE  how  much  sentiment 
Clings  like  a  fragrant  scent 
To  these  love-letters  pent 

In  their  pink  covers  : 
Day  after  day  they  came 
Feeding  love's  fickle  flame  ;  — 
Now,  she  has  changed  her  name,  — 
Then  we  were  lovers. 

Loosen  the  silken  band 
Round  the  square  bundle,  and 
See  what  a  dainty  hand 

Scribbled  to  fill  it 
Full  facetious  chat ; 
Fancy  how  long  she  sat 
Moulding  the  bullets  that 

Came  with  each  billet ! 

Ah,  I  remember  still 
Time  that  I  used  to  kill 

[38] 


A   BUNDLE   OF  LETTERS 

Waiting  the  postman's  shrill, 

Heart-stirring  whistle, 
Calling  vague  doubts  to  mind, 
Whether  or  no  I  'd  find 
That  he  had  left  behind 
One  sweet  epistle. 

Seconds  become  an  age 
At  this  exciting  stage  ; 
Two  eager  eyes  the  page 

Scan  for  a  minute  ; 
Then,  with  true  lover's  art, 
Study  it  part  by  part, 
Until  they  know  by  heart 

Everything  in  it. 

What  is  it  all  about  ? 
Dashes  for  words  left  out, — 
Pronouns  beyond  a  doubt ! 

Very  devoted. 
Howells  she  's  just  begun  ; 
Dobson  her  heart  has  won ; 
Locker  and  Tennyson 

Frequently  quoted. 

Criss-cross  the  reading  goes, 
Rapturous  rhyme  and  prose,  — 
Words  which  I  don't  suppose 

Look  very  large  in 
Books  on  the  "  ologies  " ; 
Then  there  's  a  tiny  frieze 

[39] ' 


MADRIGALS  AND  CATCHES 

Full  of  sweets  in  a  squeeze, 
Worked  on  the  margin. 

Lastly,  —  don't  pause  to  laugh  I  — 
That  is  her  autograph 
Signing  this  truce  for  half 

Her  heart's  surrender ; 
Post-scriptum,  one  and  two,  — 
Desserts,  —  the  dinner  's  through !  - 
Linking  the  "I"  and  "  You  " 

In  longings  tender. 

Such  is  the  type  of  all 
Save  one,  and  let  me  call 
Brief  notice  to  this  small 

Note  neatly  written : 
'T  is  but  a  card,  you  see, 
Gently  informing  me 
That  it  can  never  be !  — 

This  is  the  mitten ! 

A  RHYME   FOR   PRISCILLA 

DEAR  Priscilla,  quaint,  and  very 
Like  a  modern  Puritan, 
Is  a  modest,  literary, 

Merry  young  American : 
Horace  she  has  read,  and  Bion 

Is  her  favorite  in  Greek ; 
Shakspere  is  a  mighty  lion 

In  whose  den  she  dares  but  peek ; 
[40] 


A   RHYME   FOR   PRISCILLA 

Him  she  leaves  to  some  sage  Daniel, 

Since  of  lions  she  's  afraid,  — 
She  prefers  a  playful  spaniel, 

Such  as  Herrick  or  as  Praed  ; 
And  it 's  not  a  bit  satiric 

To  confess  her  fancy  goes 
From  the  epic  to  a  lyric 

On  a  rose. 

Wise  Priscilla,  dilettante, 

With  a  sentimental  mind, 
Does  n't  deign  to  dip  in  Dante, 

And  to  Milton  is  n't  kind ; 
L'Allegro,  II  Penseroso, 

Have  some  merits  she  will  grant, 
All  the  rest  is  only  so-so,  — 

Enter  Paradise  she  can't ! 
She  might  make  a  charming  angel 

(And  she  will  if  she  is  good, 
But  it 's  doubtful  if  the  change  '11 

Make  the  Epic  understood); 
Honey-suckling,  like  a  bee  she 

Goes  and  pillages  his  sweets, 
And  it 's  plain  enough  to  see  she 

Worships  Keats. 

Gay  Priscilla,  —  just  the  person 
For  the  Locker  whom  she  loves  ; 

What  a  captivating  verse  on 
Her  neat-fitting  gowns  or  gloves 
Ui  1 


MADRIGALS  AND  CATCHES 

He  could  write  in  catching  measure, 

Setting  all  the  heart  astir  1 
And  to  Aldrich  what  a  pleasure 

It  would  be  to  sing  of  her,  — 
He,  whose  perfect  songs  have  won  her 

Lips  to  quote  them  day  by  day. 
She  repeats  the  rhymes  of  Bunner 

In  a  fascinating  way, 
And  you  '11  often  find  her  lost  in  — 

She  has  reveries  at  times  — 
Some  delightful  one  of  Austin 

Dobson's  rhymes. 

0  Priscilla,  sweet  Priscilla. 
Writing  of  you  makes  me  think, 

As  I  burn  my  brown  Manila, 

And  immortalize  my  ink, 
How  well  satisfied  these  poets 

Ought  to  be  with  what  they  do, 
When,  especially,  they  know  it 's 

Read  by  such  a  girl  as  you  : 

1  who  sing  of  you  would  marry 
Just  the  kind  of  girl  you  are,  — 

One  who  does  n't  care  to  carry 
Her  poetic  taste  too  far,  — 

One  whose  fancy  is  a  bright  one, 
Who  is  fond  of  poems  fine, 

And  appreciates  a  light  one 
Such  as  mine. 

[42] 


HER   GUITAR 
A   PERSIAN   NOCTURNE 

O  NIGHTINGALE  among  the  leaves 
Who  singest  to  the  blushing  rose, 
Thy  liquid,  mellow  music  cleaves 

The  garden's  fragrance  where  it  goes ! 
Who  taught  thy  feathered  slender  throat 
This  strange,  delicious,  limpid  note, 

Which  soaring  skyward  through  the  dark 
In  swift,  melodious  pursuit, 

Tempts  all  the  trembling  stars  to  hark, 
And  all  the  rustling  leaves  be  mute  ? 

Teach  me  thy  song,  O  happy  bird, 

That,  'neath  the  window  of  my  love, 
My  lips  may  speak  some  honeyed  word 

With  wings  to  waft  it  up  above : 
And  when  she  comes  her  starry  eyes 
Shall  shame  their  rivals  in  the  skies ;  — 

Her  cheeks  shall  mock  the  rose ;  —  and  thou, 
Beholding  what  thou  thinkest  thine,  — 

Perched  lightly  on  the  lofty  bough,  — 
Shalt  leave  thy  rose,  and  sing  to  mine  I 

HER   GUITAR 

BY  the  fire  that  loves  to  tint  her 
Cheeks  the  color  of  a  rose, 
While  the  wanton  winds  of  winter 
Lose  the  landscape  in  the  snows,  — 
[431 


MADRIGALS  AND  CATCHES 

While  the  air  grows  keen  and  bitter, 

And  the  clean-cut  silver  stars 
Tremble  in  the  cold  and  glitter 

Through  the  twilight's  dusky  bars,  - 
In  a  cozy  room  where  lingers 

Happy  Time  on  folded  wings, 
I  am  watching  five  white  fingers 

Float  across  six  slender  strings 
Of  an  old  guitar,  held  lightly,  — 

Captivated  while  she  sets, 
Here  and  there,  five  others  tightly 

On  the  frets. 

Lost  in  loving  contemplation 

Of  the  fair,  shy,  girlish  face 
Conscious  of  no  admiration, 

Posed  with  such  a  charming  grace 
O'er  this  instrument  some  Spanish 

Serenader  used  to  keep 
Hidden  till  the  sun  would  vanish 

And  the  birds  were  fast  asleep ; 
Who,  below  his  loved  one's  casement, 

With  the  mellow  southern  moon 
Through  a  leafy  interlacement 

Shining  softly,  thrummed  a  tune  : 
Did  she  answer  it,  I  wonder  ? 

Did  she  frame  a  sweet  reply  ? 
Did  she  grant  the  wish  made  under 

Such  a  sky  ? 


44 


THE   MUSE 

This  I  know,  if  she  had  listened 

To  the  melody  I  Ve  heard, 
Mute  confessions  must  have  glistened 

In  her  eyes  at  every  word ; 
And  the  very  stars  above  her 

Must  have  whispered,  one  by  one, 
Something  sentimental  of  her 

When  the  serenade  was  done. 
For  this  music  has  but  ended, 

And  I  leave  my  dreams  to  find 
With  the  notes  are  somehow  blended 

Like  confessions  of  my  mind; 
And  the  gentle  girl  who  guesses 

What  these  broken  secrets  are, 
Is  the  one  whose  arm  caresses 

This  guitar. 

THE   MUSE 

FOR  months  I  had  suffered  derision, 
A  siege  of  poetical  blues ; 
The  fair  mythological  vision 

Familiarly  known  as  the  Muse 
Had  vanished  and  left  me  deserted, 

The  frozen  rhyme-rills  would  n't  run 
While  she,  Miss  Calliope,  flirted 
With  some  other  son. 

The  ink  which  I  penned  every  word  of 
Once  put  upon  paper,  —  it  froze ; 

[45] 


MADRIGALS  AND  CATCHES 

Presto !  —  transformation  unheard  of ! 

The  poetry  turned  into  prose. 
'T  was  clear  that  the  rhymes  were  not  running 

In  pairs  simultaneous  then, 
'T  was  clear  that  my  hand  had  lost  cunning, 

And  likewise  my  pen. 

I  conquered  some  mental  depression 

In  this  philosophical  grief : 
The  Muse  may  repent  her  transgression, 

I  reasoned,  —  and  turn  a  new  leaf, 
And  some  happy  day,  unexpected, 

Return  and  do  penance  a  time 
By  having  her  manners  corrected 

In  trivial  rhyme. 

Alas  for  the  "rhyme"  with  the  "reason," 

Those  two  incompatible  words ! 
I  had  as  well  dreamed  of  a  season 

Of  snow  with  its  roses  and  birds. 
Calliope,  I  'd  had  enough  of,  — 

Here  Shakspere's  remark  came  to  aid 
My  brain  with  a  trope:  —  She 's  the  stuff  of 

Which  visions  are  made. 

Then  sudden,  with  never  a  warning, 
A  voice  at  my  side  bade  me  write, 

As  if  out  of  darkness  the  morning 
Had  flooded  the  landscape  with  light ; 
[46J 


FOR   SAYNTE   VALENTYNE,  HIS   DAYE 

The  rhymes  came  again  like  the  verdure 
Which  lifts  to  the  heavens  above,  — 

Ah,  Sweetheart,  't  was  then  that  I  heard  your 
Lips  murmuring  love ! 


FOR  SAYNTE  VALENTYNE,  HIS  DAYE 

GOE,  little  Rhyme,  &  greete  Her, 
Goe,  tell  Her  y*  I  thinke 
Things  infinitely  sweeter 

Yn  I  maie  putt  in  Inke ; 
Ye  Musick  of  ye  metre 

Shal  linger  on  ye  Aire 
Ye  whiles  She  turns  ye  Leaves  &  learns 
Ye  Secrett  hidden  there. 

Flye,  little  Leafe  of  Paper, 

Flye,  merrie-hearted  Bird, 
&  lett  your  Fancie  shape  Her 

Some  dear  &  simple  Word 
Soe  Sweete  it  sha'n't  escape  Her, 

&  if  a  Blushe  you  see 
Steale  upp  &  chase  across  Her  face, 

Return  &  counsell  me. 

Haste,  little  God!    I  send  Her, 

Bye  You,  ys  MS, 
Wch  hopefull  Love  has  penned  Her 

Withe  quill  in  Honie  dipt ; 

[47] 


MADRIGALS  AND  CATCHES 

Haste !  bidd  Her  Heart  be  tender 

Unto  ye  lightsome  Line 
Where  I  in  maske  have  come  to  aske 

To  be  Her  Valentyne ! 


TO    CUPID,  FEBRUARY  14 

CUPID,  goe  to  Her  in  haste, 
Saye  my  Hearte  is  hopefull ; 
Of  ye  Songes  y*  She  has  graced, 

Here 's  an  Envelope  full. 
Kiss  Her  once  —  ys  be  your  Fee ; 

Kiss  Her  twice  —  for  mine ! 
Kiss  Her  thrice  &  three  times  three, 
Telle  Her  you  have  come  to  be 
Her  Valentyne ! 

Cupid,  goe  in  haste  to  Her, 

Saye  my  Hearte  is  lonely ; 
Hasten,  prettie  Messenger, 

Bring  Her  to  me  —  only 
Kiss  Her  once  —  ys  be  your  Fee ; 

Kiss  Her  twice  —  for  mine ! 
I  shall  kiss  Her  three  times  three, 
When  you  bring  Her  back  to  be 

My  Valentyne  I 


[48] 


ENGAGED 


ENGAGED 

TV  yi"UTE  the  music  of  the  fiddle 
JLVX     When  we  wandered  to  the  door ; 
Must  have  been  about  the  middle 

Of  the  night,  or  may  be  more. 
Every  poising  of  her  face  let 

Loose  the  rhapsodies  of  love  ; 
Every  movement  of  her  bracelet, 

Or  her  glove. 

After  each  adieu  was  bidden, 

Leisurely  we  took  our  leave ; 
One  white  hand  was  half-way  hidden 

In  a  corner  of  my  sleeve. 
Foolishly  my  fancy  lingers ! 

Still,  what  can  a  captive  do  ? 
Just  the  pressure  of  her  fingers 

Thrilled  me  through. 

Spoke  we  of  the  pleasant  dances, 

Costumes,  supper,  and  the  wine  ; 
Gossiped  of  the  stolen  glances ; 

Guessed  engagements,  —  mentioned  mine. 
Some  old  sorrow  to  her  eye  lent 

Tears  that  trickled  while  we  talked, 
And  I  found  her  growing  silent 

As  we  walked. 


MADRIGALS  AND  CATCHES 

My  engagement  ?   Queer,  why  stupid 

People  peddle  little  lies  ! 
Here,  beside  us,  cunning  Cupid 

Shot  his  arrows  from  her  eyes  ; 
In  my  heart  a  twinge  and  flutter 

Followed  fast  each  dart  he  dealt, 
And  my  tongue  tried  hard  to  utter 

What  I  felt. 

Standing  near  the  polished  newel, 

With  the  gas  turned  very  low, 
Conscience  seemed  to  whisper,  "  Cruel, 

Tell  the  truth  before  you  go  1" 
So  my  courage,  getting  firmer, 

Set  her  doubtings  all  aright ; 
Tiny  hands  came  with  the  murmur, 

"  Now,  good-night !  " 

T  was  the  same  delicious  lisp  heard 

At  the  dance  —  a  merry  strain ! 
True  the  voice  now  softly  whispered,  — 

True  she  let  her  hands  remain 
In  my  own,  as  if  in  token 

Of  some  wish  in  sweet  eclipse, 
Cherished  lovingly,  unspoken 

By  her  lips. 

Long-lashed  eyelids  gently  drooping, 
Face  suffused  with  scarlet  flush, 

Told  the  secret,  as  I,  stooping, 
Kissed  the  rose-leaf  of  her  blush : 

[50] 


A   LYRIC 

Like  some  happy,  sunny  island 

In  a  sea  of  joy  was  I ; 
Quick  she  turned  her  face  to  smile,  and 

Said  "  Good-by !  " 

When  we  met  the  morning  after, 

Blithe  as  any  bird  was  she ; 
Music  mingled  with  her  laughter, 

Every  word  was  love  to  me. 
So  the  genial  Mrs.  Grundy, 

Seeing  how  our  hearts  are  caged, 
Tells  the  truth  at  church  next  Sunday  — 

"  They  're  engaged !  " 

A   LYRIC 

LADY,  at  your  lattice  I 
Launch  this  lyric  to  the  sky 
On  the  fragrant  tides  of  musk 
Dewy  blooms  exale  at  dusk ; 
Love  its  pilot,  —  only  Love 
Left  to  haven  it  above,  — 
Left  to  guide  it  through  the  bars 
Of  the  twilight  to  the  stars ; 
And  these  sentinels  who  keep 
Careful  vigils  o'er  your  sleep 
Shall  to  your  soft  slumber  bring 
This  love  lyric  which  I  sing ; 
Thus  throughout  the  summer  night 
Melody  shall  make  delight 


MADRIGALS  AND  CATCHES 

Mingle  with  your  dreams,  and  be 
Love's  petitioners  for  me, 
Till  the  East  shall  hint  of  day, 
And  the  stars  shall  sail  away 
Making  music-billows  break 
On  your  lids  and  whisper :  Wake  1  — 
Till  I  see  your  curtain  drawn 
And  your  rosy  face  —  the  Dawn ! 

AN   UNTUTORED   MIND 

WHEN  I  was  but  a  lad  of  eight, 
And  Dorothy  was  turning  seven, 
My  life  seemed  spent  close  by  the  gate 

Of  what  I  had  imagined  Heaven ; 
So  sweet  was  Dorothy,  and  mild, 

To  every  fault  of  mine  so  tender, 
I  grew  to  love  her  as  a  child 

Accustomed  always  to  befriend  her. 

Through  school  hours  I  observed  her  dress. 

Plain  calico  to  me  was  satin ; 
The  habit  often  cost  recess 

And  many  weary  lines  of  Latin. 
She  very  seldom  turned  her  face, 

Replete  with  roses,  fair  and  ruddy ; 
She  seemed  to  think  the  school  a  place 

For  strict  deportment  and  for  study. 

In  all  the  classes  she  was  first ; 

She  graduated,  —  went  to  college,  — 
[52  ] 


THE   VILLAGE   SCHOOL 

Returned  most  wonderfully  versed 

In  every  branch  and  twig  of  knowledge. 

Alas  !  I  wear  no  savant's  cap  ! 

My  brain  is  not  a  book-condenser ! 

No  doubt  she  '11  marry  that  young  chap 
I  hear  her  call  "  Dear  Herbert  Spencer  ! " 

THE   VILLAGE   SCHOOL 

STILL  on  the  corner  stands  the  school 
Where  my  first  steps  were  taken, 
The  butt  of  public  ridicule, 
Deserted  and  forsaken ; 
The  belfry  no  more  boasts  the  bell 

Whose  tumult  used  to  measure 
My  boyhood's  hour,  and  ring  the  knell 
To  every  prank  and  pleasure. 

The  town  has  shifted  foot  by  foot 

As  tempore  mutantur, 
And  wisdom's  wine  to-day  is  put 

Into  a  new  decanter 
Whose  bright  exterior  seems  to  hold 

A  vital  essence  cheery, 
Yet  just  this  morning  I  was  told 

'T  was  dull  within  and  dreary. 

The  boy  is  father  of  the  man : 

He  lives  and  thinks  as  I  did 
When,  in  short  trousers,  I  began 

To  have  my  joys  divided. 
[  53] 


MADRIGALS  AND  CATCHES 

He  took  me  back  to  this  old  place 

So  with  my  youth  connected, 
And  looking  in  the  youngster's  face 

This  picture  was  reflected. 

Out  from  the  pages  of  my  book, 

Too  pictureless  for  study, 
I  sometimes  used  to  steal  a  look 

At  one  face,  round  and  ruddy ; 
T  was  wrong  I  knew,  — 't  was  very  wrong, 

And  cost  me  much  derision 
When  I  was  laboring  with  Long  — 

O,  —  very  Long  Division  ! 

My  copy-book  with  faultless  lines 

Of  precept  for  each  letter 
Was  scribbled  over  with  "  Be  mine  "-s, 

A  phrase  which  I  wrote  better 
Than  any  admonition  there  : 

It  somehow  seemed  to  nourish 
My  jaded  heart  to  read  it  where 

I  'd  penned  it  with  a  flourish. 

No  matter  how  I  strived  to  learn,  — 

No  matter  how  I  studied, 
Once  give  my  head  the  proper  turn 

And  then  my  eyes  were  flooded ; 
For  there  across  the  room  sat  she 

Who  balked  my  brain's  endeavor :  — 
[54l 


THE   VILLAGE   SCHOOL 

Thought  I,  one  day  I  '11  whisper  "  Be  " 
And  she  '11  be  mine  forever. 


Old  school  among  the  summer  morns' 

And  afternoons'  long  dozes  — 
Those  hours  of  mingled  mental  thorns  — 

You  put  some  minute-roses ; 
One  —  one  you  put  —  to  me  the  best,  — 

The  sweet  face  of  my  story, 
Who  budded,  bloomed,  then,  like  the  rest, 

Died  in  her  fullest  glory. 

Ah  me,  the  children  you  have  known,  — 

The  girl  with  bird-like  laughter,  — 
The  boy  whose  penitential  moan 

Pierced  to  your  topmost  rafter,  — 
Who  hears  to-day  the  voice  of  mirth, 

Or  sorrow's  peal,  I  wonder ! 
How  many  yet  are  on  the  earth? 

Alas,  —  how  many  under ! 

Fit  emblem  of  the  change  of  time,  — 

Minerva's  palace-ruin, 
Take  this,  a  pupil's  idle  rhyme 

With  love  and  me  and  you  in ; 
And  may  the  boy  whose  school-hours  seem 

To-day  so  dull  and  gloomy, 
Grown  up,  inherit  such  a  dream 

As  you  have  pictured  to  me. 

[55  1 


MADRIGALS  AND  CATCHES 


A   COLONIAL  MISSIVE 

BY  Dorothy  in  Cambridge  town 
This  letter  quaint  was  written 
To  some  young  chap  in  cap  and  gown 

Whose  happy  heart  was  smitten, 
Long  years  ago  when  stately  dames 

Were  puffed  and  powdered  Madams, 
And  these  were  frequent  college  names, 
Ware,  Eliot,  and  Adams. 

The  college  yard  was  larger  then,  — 

The  roll  of  students  only 
Could  muster  up  a  hundred  men,  — 

Think,  now-a-days,  how  lonely  ! 
Yet  almost  every  one  of  those 

Who  won  an  A.B.  honor 
Has  left  a  name  whose  glory  throws 

The  laurels  thick  upon  her. 

Dear  Harvard !  It  is  hard  to  sing 

Of  this  un- Annexed  maiden 
Without  forgetting  everything 

Save  you.    My  mind  is  laden 
With  memories  of  by-gone  days 

When  I  was  wont  to  travel 
To  lectures  and  the  triumph  blaze 

Across  the  paths  of  gravel, 
f  56] 


A   COLONIAL   MISSIVE 

Just  how  this  lad  and  lassie  looked, 

Or  what  was  his  or  her  name  — 
Her  easy  running  quill  ne'er  crooked 

The  semblance  of  a  surname,  — 
It  matters  not.    I  like  to  think 

I  see  her  in  the  creamy 
Old  paper  'twixt  the  lines  of  ink,  — 

A  face  refined  and  dreamy. 

I  picture  her  in  homespun  dress, 

Each  small  foot  in  a  sandal, 
Her  features  full  of  tenderness 

Illumined  by  a  candle, 
Her  quill  a  feather  slim  and  white 

Above  the  square  of  paper, 
The  hand  that  guides  it  left  or  right 

Small,  and  the  fingers  taper. 

Those  were  the  days  of  waxen  seals 

And  "  f  "-ish  looking  "  s  "-es, 
Of  high-heeled  boots  and  spinning-wheels 

On  which  they  spun  their  dresses ; 
And  in  this  missive  one  may  find 

Such  candor  in  a  sentence 
'T  would  bring,  if  one  were  half  inclined, 

A  sinner  to  repentance. 

'T  is  faded  somewhat  since  it  felt 
Her  fingers  smooth  its  features, 

And  with  it  Father  Time  has  dealt 
As  with  us  human  creatures : 
[57  1 


MADRIGALS  AND  CATCHES 

A  wrinkle  wreathes  its  inky  smile 
And  hides  the  comma-dimple, 

And  makes  it  seem  severe  in  style 
Which  is  severely  simple. 

Ah,  Cambridge  Dorothy,  I  know 

As  long  as  you  were  living  — 
A  rose-face  framed  in  locks  of  snow,  — 

His  love  had  no  misgiving ; 
And  this  love-letter  which  you  penned,  — 

Fast  deepening  to  yellow, 
Seems  thus  to  whisper :  Like  mey  Friend, 

Let  love  make  thy  life  mellow  ! 

GOOD-NIGHT 

rT^HE  white  stars  blossom  in  the  skies, 
A       Like  daisies  strewn  in  azure  aisles ; 
I  miss  but  two,  —  the  gentle  eyes 
That  greet  me  with  your  smiles. 

Love's  small  astronomy  is  mine 

Who  missing  these  miss  all  the  rest : 

I  hate  these  rival  lights  that  shine 
To  mock  my  lonely  quest. 

Good-night,  and  may  the  angels  keep 
Their  faithful  watches  o'er  each  lid, 

Behind  whose  fringes,  bathed  in  sleep, 
A  turquoise  sky  is  hid. 


A   PACIFIC   DAWN 

SONNETS 

BREEZES   OF   MORNING 

ONCE,  when  the  doors  of  night  were  open  thrown, 
I  saw  the  pink-robed  Dawn,  —  as  one  who  sees 
A  rose-bud  opening  by  slow  degrees,  — 
Step  from  the  Orient,  a  golden  zone 
About  her  waist :  then,  sudden,  softly  blown 
On  fragile  blossom-bugles  by  the  breeze, 
I  heard  the  fragrant  roll-call  of  the  bees 
And  saw  them  troop  responsive  to  the  tone. 

And  as  I  watched  them  drain  their  cups  of  dew, 
And  saw  them  dart  and  flash  their  saffron  stripes 

In  all  the  opal  radiance  of  dawn, 
The  mythic  age  seemed  merged  into  the  new, 
And  Pan  once  more  upon  his  slender  pipes 

Called  to  the  dance  the  nimble  nymph  and  faun. 

A  PACIFIC   DAWN 

WHEN  pale  Selene,  in  her  crescent  boat, 
Sails  down  unto  the  margin  of  the  West 
Through  shoals  of  stars  that  twinkle  in  unrest, 
In  fancy's  bark  I  follow  her,  and  float 
O'er  sapphire  seas  to  dreamy  realms  remote, 
And  at  my  side  there  goes  a  feathered  guest 
I  59] 


MADRIGALS  AND   CATCHES 

Who  sings  to  cheer  me,  and  the  air  is  blest 
With  melody  responsive  to  his  note. 

On,  on  I  journey  in  the  starry  wake, 
And  all  about  me  is  the  purple  dark 

Whence  blow  the  winds  by  which  my  bark 

is  borne ; 

And  suddenly  the  poppy  fetters  break, 
The  moon  is  gone,  and  in  the  field  a  lark 
Pays  tribute  to  the  faint  Pacific  morn. 


A   BUTTERFLY   IN   WALL   STREET 

WNGED  wanderer  from  clover  meadows  sweet, 
Where  all  day  long  beneath  a  smiling  sky 
You  drained  the  wild-flowers'  cups  of  honey  dry 
And  heard  the  drowsy  winds  their  love  repeat, 
What  idle  zephyr,  whispering  deceit, 

Captured  your  heart  and  tempted  you  to  fly 
Unto  this  noisy  town  and  vainly  pry 
Into  the  secrets  of  this  busy  street  ? 

To  me  your  unexpected  presence  brings 

A  thought  of  fragrant  pastures,  buds  and  flowers, 

And  sleepy  brooks,  and  cattle  in  the  fold ; 
Or,  watching  as  you  soar  on  trembling  wings, 
I  think  for  those  who  toil  through  weary  hours 
You  are  a  type  of  their  uncertain  gold ! 

[60] 


STRATEGY 


THE   DANCING   GYPSY 

UPON  a  mottled,  tawny  leopard-skin 
Spread  in  the  sunshine  on  the  dusty  ground, 
Stood  she, — a  gypsy  girl;  and,  circled  round, 
Sat  dusky  youths  who  made  a  merry  din 
With  wild,  barbaric  drums,  while  she,  within,  — 
A  graceful  figure,  by  no  garments  bound,  — 
Danced  to  the  tambourine's  discordant  sound, 
And  mocked  the  instrument's  delirious  spin. 

Outside  the  ring  were  grouped  some  Arab  boys, 
Who  chattered  glibly  in  the  golden  sun, 

And  sang  weird  strains  of  song  by  fits  and  starts ; 
They  seemed  unconscious  of  the  swelling  noise, 
Yet  he  alone  was  so,  —  her  chosen  one : 

For  all  the  rest,  she  danced  upon  their  hearts ! 


STRATEGY 

Ti  yrUSE,  grant  me  some  new  simile  to  sing 
JLVA     Her  matchless  grace  and  loveliness,  and  tell 

What  words  shall  fit  the  lyric's  measure  well, 
What  metre  smooth  unto  her  lips  to  bring : 
Then  shall  my  song  be  like  an  antique  ring 
In  whose  small  circlet  precious  jewels  dwell,  — 
Each  line  a  gem  to  bribe  the  sentinel 
That  guards  her  heart  against  Love's  eager  king. 
[61  ] 


MADRIGALS  AND  CATCHES 

Then  as  she  lends  her  eyes  to  read  my  song 
Perchance  her  heart  its  portals  wide  will  throw 

And  give  admittance  to  Love's  messenger, 
Who,  summoning  his  king's  impatient  throng, 
Shall  capture  it,  and  come  to  let  me  know 
How  easily  he  won  a  truce  from  her. 


RE-AWAKENING 

WITHIN  a  spot  where  slept  the  silent  dead, 
I  wandered  once  when  spring  had  kissed  the 

earth, 

And  set  around  its  breast  an  emerald  girth 
Of  grass,  entangling  roses  white  and  red ; 
Among  the  leafy  branches  overhead 

The  mating  robins  twittered  in  their  mirth,  — 
All  nature  seemed  rejoicing  in  new  birth 
Beneath  the  canopy  the  blue  skies  spread : 

And  as  I  sat  beside  one  mossy  stone 

Kissed  by  a  hundred  suns  of  summer  skies, 

A  sudden  joy  came  to  my  heart,  alone 

Among  those  graves,  to  think  the  dead  shall  rise 

In  God's  eternal  spring  when  sounds  are  blown 
On  angels'  instruments  in  Paradise ! 


[62] 


A  NEW   YEAR'S   MASQUE 

MISS   THOMAS'S    "A    NEW   YEAR'S 
MASQUE" 

SHE  finds  companionship  in  field  and  wood, 
A  friendly  face  in  every  path  and  nook ; 
The  skies  for  her  wear  no  uncertain  look ; 
She  comprehends  the  mystery  and  mood 
Of  winds  and  waves  and  Heaven's  starry  brood ; 
She  knows  the  message  of  the  bird  and  brook ; 
For  her  all  Nature  is  an  open  book, 
And  solitary  means  not  solitude. 

With  this  small  volume  as  your  talisman, 

When  all  the  world  is  shrouded  in  the  snows, 

Sit  down  and  read  these  music-making  words : 
And  winter's  blasts  shall  seem  the  winds  that  fan 
Your  face  in  June  —  sweet  with  the  breath  of  rose, 
And  tremulous  with  twitterings  of  birds  ! 


MADRIGALS  AND  CATCHES 

FRENCH    FOLLIES 

COME,   PAN,   AND   PIPE 

COME,  Pan,  and  pipe  upon  the  reed, 
And  make  the  mellow  music  bleed, 
As  once  it  did  in  days  of  yore, 
Along  the  brook's  leaf-tangled  shore, 
Through  sylvan  shade  and  fragrant  mead. 

On  Hybla  honey  come  and  feed,  — 
To  tempt  the  Fauns  in  dance  to  lead 
The  Dryads  on  the  mossy  floor,  — 
Come,  Pan,  and  pipe ! 

To-day  the  ghosts  —  Gold,  Gain,  and  Greed, 
The  world  pursues  with  savage  speed : 

Forgotten  is  your  magic  lore. 

Oh,  bring  it  back  to  us  once  more ! 
For  simple,  rustic  song  we  plead : 
Come,  Pan,  and  pipe  1 

WHEN  TWILIGHT    COMES 

WHEN  twilight  comes,  and  nature  stills 
The  hum  that  haunts  the  dales  and  hills, 
Dim  shadows  deepen  and  combine, 
And  Heaven  with  its  crystal  wine 
The  cups  of  thirsty  roses  fills. 


AN   OLD   RONDO 

Blithe  birds,  with  music-burdened  bills, 
Hush  for  a  space  their  tender  trills, 
And  seek  their  homes  in  tree  and  vine 
When  twilight  comes. 

Soft  melody  the  silence  thrills, 
Played  by  the  nymphs  along  the  rills ; 
And  where  the  dew-kist  grasses  twine, 
The  toads  and  crickets  tattoo  fine 
Drums  to  the  fife  of  whip-poor-wills, 
When  twilight  comes. 

AN  OLD  RONDO 

HER  scuttle  Hatt  is  wondrous  wide, 
All  furrie,  too,  on  every  side ; 
Soe  out  She  trippeth  daintylie, 
To  lett  ye  Youth  full  well  to  see 
How  fayre  ye  mayde  is  for  ye  Bryde. 

A  lyttle  puffed,  may  be,  bye  Pryde, 
She  yet  soe  lovely e  is  that  I  'd 
A  Shillynge  give  to  tye,  perdie, 
Her  scuttle  Hatt. 

Ye  Coales  into  ye  Scuttle  slide, 
Soe  in  her  Hatt  wolde  I,  and  hide 

To  steale  some  Kisses  —  two  or  three ; 
But  synce  She  never  asketh  me, 
Ye  scornful  Cynick  doth  deride 
Her  scuttle  Hatt ! 
[65! 


MADRIGALS  AND  CATCHES 


BEHIND  HER  FAN 

BEHIND  her  fan  of  downy  fluff, 
Sewed  on  soft  saffron  satin  stuff, 
With  peacock  feathers,  purple-eyed, 
Caught  daintily  on  either  side, 
The  gay  coquette  displays  a  puff : 

Two  blue  eyes  peep  above  the  buff : 
Two  pinky  pouting  lips,  .  .  .  enough ! 
That  cough  means  surely  come  and  hide 
Behind  her  fan. 

The  barque  of  Hope  is  trim  and  tough, 
So  out  I  venture  on  the  rough, 

Uncertain  sea  of  girlish  pride. 

A  breeze !  I  tack  against  the  tide,  — 
Capture  a  kiss  and  catch  a  cuff,  — 
Behind  her  fan. 

HER  CHINA  CUP 

HER  china  cup  is  white  and  thin ; 
A  thousand  times  her  heart  has  been 
Made  merry  at  its  scalloped  brink ; 
And  in  the  bottom,  painted  pink, 
A  dragon  greets  her  with  a  grin. 

The  brim  her  kisses  loves  to  win ; 
The  handle  is  a  manikin, 
[661 


TO   CUPID 

Who  spies  the  foes  that  chip  or  chink 
Her  china  cup. 

Muse,  tell  me  if  it  be  a  sin : 

I  watch  her  lift  it  past  her  chin 
Up  to  the  scarlet  lips  and  drink 
The  Oolong  draught.  Somehow  I  think 

I  'd  like  to  be  the  dragon  in 
Her  china  cup ! 


TO  CUPID 

CUPID,  tell  me  how  to  twine 
Words  like  roses  in  a  line, 
Fit  my  lady's  eyes  to  greet, 
For  her  red  lips  to  repeat 
That  her  heart  may  fathom  mine. 

How  to  make  each  sentence  shine  — 
Love  with  modest  speech  combine  — 
How  to  set  her  heart  a-beat  — 
Cupid,  tell  me ! 

Tell  me,  may  I  dare  to  sign 
All  the  love  and  fancies  fine  — 

All  the  thoughts  and  secrets  sweet, 
That  I  lay  before  her  feet  ? 
Does  she  love  her  Valentine  ? 
Cupid,  tell  me ! 
[67! 


MADRIGALS   AND   CATCHES 


"AWAKE,  AWAKE!" 

AVAKE,  awake,  O  gracious  heart, 
There  's  some  one  knocking  at  the  door ! 
The  chilling  breezes  make  him  smart; 
His  little  feet  are  tired  and  sore. 

Arise,  and  welcome  him  before 

Adown  his  cheeks  the  big  tears  start : 
Awake,  awake,  O  gracious  heart, 

There  's  some  one  knocking  at  the  door ! 

'T  is  Cupid  come  with  loving  art 

To  honor,  worship,  and  implore ; 

And  lest,  unwelcomed,  he  depart 

With  all  his  wise,  mysterious  lore, 

Awake,  awake,  O  gracious  heart, 

There  's  some  one  knocking  at  the  door ! 

TO  MY  LOVE 

OUTSIDE,  the  blasts  of  winter  blow 
Across  the  city  clad  in  white ; 
Each  flake  of  madly  driven  snow 

A  demon  seems,  with  teeth  that  bite ; 
The  windows  rattle  as  with  fright, 
And  winds  the  chimney  whistle  through : 

Alone  with  memory,  to-night, 
I  'm  happy,  thinking,  love,  of  you. 
[68] 


VALENTINE   TO   AN   ANONYMOUS   MISS 

Within,  I  watch  the  embers  glow ; 

The  slender  flames  in  sudden  flight 
Leap  from  the  crackling  logs,  and  throw 

Around  the  room  a  golden  light ; 

Romantic  tales  their  tongues  recite, 
And  mellow  songs,  as  if  they  knew, 

Alone  with  memory,  to-night, 
I  'm  happy,  thinking,  love,  of  you. 

From  Dreamland  all  my  fancies  flow ; 

My  friendly  books,  with  faces  bright, 
Return  my  listless  gaze,  and  show 

No  sign  of  sorrow  at  the  slight. 

Hark !  from  the  steeple's  dizzy  height 
The  bells  the  air  with  echoes  strew  : 

"Alone  with  memory,  to-night, 
I  'm  happy,  thinking,  love,  of  you." 

Envoy 
Love,  let  this  song  of  mine  invite 

Your  sweeter  voice  to  echo,  too ;  — 
"  Alone  with  memory,  to-night, 

I  'm  happy,  thinking,  love,  of  you !  " 

VALENTINE  TO  AN  ANONYMOUS    MISS 

GOLDEN  locks  in  cunning  curl ; 
Eyes  like  jewels  set  in  rings ; 
Teeth,  a  row  of  polished  pearl ; 
Lips  two  rosy  blossomings  ; 


MADRIGALS   AND   CATCHES 

Spryly  to  my  side  he  springs : 
Pray,  who  is  this  fairy  fine  ? 

At  my  feet  he  coyly  flings  — 
"  Will  you  be  my  Valentine  ?  " 

Ah,  my  brain  is  in  a  whirl, 

Thinking  on  such  dainty  things  1 

'T  is  young  Cupid  ;  see  him  furl 
At  his  back  two  tiny  wings  1 
Just  between,  a  quiver  swings, 

Dipt  in  love's  delicious  wine, 

To  each  dart  the  flavor  clings  — 
"  Will  you  be  my  Valentine  ? " 

Watching,  I  shall  see  him  hurl 
Recklessly  these  sugared  stings ; 

Shaped  like  lips  of  some  sweet  girl 
Is  the  bow  his  shoulder  slings  — 
Silken  hair  twined  for  the  strings. 

Snap!  —  What  ails  this  heart  of  mine, 

Clamoring  with  questionings  ?  — 
"  Will  you  be  my  Valentine  ?  " 

Envoy 

Muse,  unto  the  maid  who  sings 
For  my  ears  this  teasing  line, 

This  reply  the  echo  brings ;  — 
"  Will  you  be  my  Valentine  ?  " 


[70] 


A   COQUETTE 


A  COQUETTE 

SHE  wears  a  most  bewitching  bang, — 
Gold  curls  made  captive  in  a  net ; 
Her  dresses  with  precision  hang ; 
Her  hat  observes  the  stylish  set ; 
She  has  a  poodle  for  a  pet, 
And  drives  a  dashing  drag  and  pony ; 

I  know  it,  though  we  Ve  never  met,  — 
I  Ve  seen  her  picture  by  Sarony. 

Her  phrases  all  are  fraught  with  slang, 

The  very  latest  she  can  get ; 
She  sings  the  songs  that  Patience  sang, 

Can  whistle  airs  from  "  Olivette," 

And,  in  the  waltz,  perhaps,  might  let 
You  squeeze  her  hand,  with  gems  all  stony 

I  know  it,  though  we  Ve  never  met,  — 
I  Ve  seen  her  picture  by  Sarony. 

Her  heart  has  never  felt  love's  pang, 

Nor  known  a  momentary  fret ; 
Want  never  wounds  her  with  his  fang ; 

She  likes  to  run  Papa  in  debt ; 

She  '11  smoke  a  slender  cigarette 
Sub  rosa  with  a  favored  crony : 

I  know  it,  though  we  Ve  never  met,  — 
I  Ve  seen  her  picture  by  Sarony. 

[71 1 


MADRIGALS  AND   CATCHES 

Envoy 

Princess,  beware  this  gay  coquette ! 

She  has  no  thoughts  of  matrimony : 
I  know  it,  though  we  've  never  met,  — 

I  Ve  seen  her  picture  by  Sarony. 

A  SWELL 

HIS  forehead  he  fringes  and  decks 
With  carefully  cut  Montagues ; 
He  angles  his  arms  semi-X, 
And  dresses  in  delicate  hues ; 
His  haunts  are  the  rich  avenues ; 
Staccato  is  somewhat  his  gait ; 
It  takes  but  a  wink  to  amuse 
His  sadly  impoverished  pate. 

His  costumes  are  covered  with  checks ; 

He  travels  in  taper-toed  shoes 
Through  Vanity  Fair,  there  to  vex 

The  silly  young  heart  that  he  wooes ; 

He  's  clever  with  cards  and  with  cues, 
And  banters  with  Fortune  and  Fate : 

Alas,  that  the  lad  cannot  lose 
His  sadly  impoverished  pate ! 

He 's  fond  of  the  frivolous  sex ; 

His  light  conversation  he  strews 
With  "toffy,"  —  aught  else  would  perplex 

The  topic  his  fancy  pursues ; 


OF   RHYME 

The  cud  of  contentment  he  chews, 
While  women  and  wealth  on  him  wait ; 

And  nature  with  nothing  endues 
His  sadly  impoverished  pate. 

Envoy 

Fair  princesses,  all  who  peruse 
This  ballade,  beware,  ere  too  late, 

Lest  Opulence  hear  you  abuse 
His  sadly  impoverished  pate ! 

OF  RHYME 

WHEN  blossoms  born  of  balmy  spring 
Breathe  fragrance  in  the  pleasant  shade 
Of  branches  where  the  blue-birds  sing, 
Their  hearts  with  music  overweighed  ; 
When  brooks  go  babbling  through  the  glade, 
And  over  rocks  the  grasses  climb 

To  greet  the  sunshine,  half-afraid, — 
How  easy  't  is  to  write  a  rhyme  I 

When  invitations  are  a-wing 

For  gay  Terpsichore's  parade  ; 
When  dreamy  waltzes  stir  the  string 

And  jewels  flash  on  rich  brocade, 

Where  Paris  dresses  are  displayed, 
And  slippered  feet  keep  careful  time :  — 

In  winter,  when  the  roses  fade, 
How  easy  't  is  to  write  a  rhyme ! 
[73  1 


MADRIGALS   AND    CATCHES 

When  by  your  side,  with  graceful  swing, 
Some  fair-faced,  gentle  girl  has  strayed, 

Willing  and  glad  to  have  you  bring 

Your  claims  for  love  and  get  them  paid 
In  kisses,  smiles,  and  words  that  aid 

The  bells  of  bliss  to  better  chime ;  — 
When  Cupid's  rules  are  first  obeyed, 

How  easy  't  is  to  write  a  rhyme ! 

Envoy 

Reader,  forgive  me,  man  or  maid, 

Against  Calliope  this  crime ; 
And  let  this  brief  ballade  persuade 

How  easy  't  is  to  write  a  rhyme ! 

TO  AUSTIN  DOBSON 

FROM  the  sunny  climes  of  France, 
Flying  to  the  west, 
Came  a  flock  of  birds  by  chance, 

There  to  sing  and  rest : 
Of  some  secrets  deep  in  quest,  — 

Justice  for  their  wrongs,  — 
Seeking  one  to  shield  their  breast, 
One  to  write  their  songs. 

Melodies  of  old  romance, 

Joy  and  gentle  jest, 
Notes  that  made  the  dull  heart  dance 

With  a  merry  zest ;  — 
[741 


TO   AUSTIN   DOBSON 

Maids  in  matchless  beauty  drest, 
Youths  in  happy  throngs ;  — 

These  they  sang  to  tempt  and  test 
One  to  write  their  songs. 

In  old  London's  wide  expanse 

Built  each  feathered  guest,  — 
Man's  small  pleasure  to  enhance, 

Singing  him  to  rest,  — 
Came,  and  tenderly  confessed, 

Perched  on  leafy  prongs, 
Life  were  sweet  if  they  possessed 

One  to  write  their  songs. 

Envoy 

Austin,  it  was  you  they  blest : 

Fame  to  you  belongs ! 
Time  has  proven  you  're  the  best 

One  to  write  their  songs. 


LYRICS   FOR   A   LUTE 

FANCY 


LYRICS  FOR  A  LUTE 

TO  FANCY 

FROM  what  mystery  of  space 
Come  you,  miracle  of  grace ! 
Lighting  up  the  realm  of  dream 
With  a  transitory  gleam  ? 
Phantom  of  the  poet's  brain  ! 
From  what  shadowy  domain 
Come  you  secretly,  unsought, 
Making  music  of  his  thought, 
Bringing  him  the  gift  of  rhyme 
At  an  unexpected  time  ? 
Is  there  any  magic  lure 
That  will  win  you  quick  and  sure  ? 
Is  there  any  fetter  strong 
That  will  hold  you,  soul  of  song? 
Tell  me,  Fancy,  so  that  I 
May  not  let  you  slip  me  by ! 

THE  HARBOR  OF  DREAMS 

ONLY  a  whispering  gale 
Flutters  the  wings  of  the  boat ; 
Only  a  bird  in  the  vale 

Lends  to  the  silence  a  note 
Mellow,  subdued,  and  remote : 
[791 


LYRICS  FOR  A  LUTE 

This  is  the  twilight  of  peace, 
This  is  the  hour  of  release, 
Free  of  all  worry  and  fret, 
Clean  of  all  care  and  regret, 
When,  like  a  bird  in  its  nest, 
Fancy  lies  folded  to  rest. 

This  is  the  margin  of  sleep ; 

Here  let  the  anchor  be  cast ; 
Here  in  forgetfulness  deep, 
Now  that  the  journey  is  past, 
Lower  the  sails  from  the  mast. 
Here  is  the  bay  of  content, 
Heaven  and  earth  interblent ; 
Here  is  the  heaven  that  lies 
Close  to  the  gates  of  surprise ; 
Here  all  like  Paradise  seems,  — 
Here  is  the  harbor  of  dreams. 


BREATH  OF  SONG 

FROM  the  minster's  organ-loft, 
Floating  down  the  shadowed  nave, 
Comes  a  strain  of  music  soft, 
Falling  as  a  weary  wave 

Falls  upon  the  beach  of  sand, 
Murmurous  and  sweet  and  bland, 
Bearing  from  the  mighty  sea 
Messages  of  melody. 
[80]   " 


BREATH   OF   SONG 

There,  alone,  the  organist, 

Lets  his  listless  fingers  go  — 
Lost  in  a  melodious  mist  — 
O'er  the  keyboard,  to  and  fro  : 

There,  half-dreaming,  in  the  gloom, 
Sits  the  weaver  at  his  loom, 
Weaving  with  the  threads  of  sound 
Music-woof  the  warp  around. 

All  unconsciously  he  hides 

Strains  familiar  in  his  theme, 
When  a  master-spirit  glides 

Through  the  doorway  of  his  dream ; 
Mozart,  Handel,  Chopin,  or 
Harmony's  great  conjuror  — 
Rapt  Beethoven !  —  each  is  part 
Of  the  dreaming  player's  heart. 

So  the  Poet  dreams,  nor  heeds 

Who  may  listen,  who  may  hear ; 
Following  where  Fancy  leads, 
She  alone  to  him  is  dear : 
Omar,  Keats,  Theocritus, 
In  his  voice  may  speak  to  us 
From  the  realm  of  ages  dim  — 
These  are  in  the  heart  of  him  ! 

Poets  in  the  fields  of  Time, 

Since  the  world  began,  have  sown 

Wide  the  precious  seeds  of  rhyme, 
And  to  us  to-day  are  blown 
[81  ] 


LYRICS  FOR  A  LUTE 

Odors  from  these  poem-flowers  — 
Seedlings  of  the  later  hours — 
Blossoming  the  fields  along, 
Breathing  the  sweet  breath  of  song. 

OMAR  KHAYYAM 

A'  Naishapur  his  ashes  lie 
O'ershadowed  by  the  mosque's  blue  dome  ; 
There  folded  in  his  tent  of  sky 
The  star  of  Persia  sleeps  at  home. 

The  Rose  her  buried  Nightingale 
Remembers,  faithful  all  these  years  ; 

Around  his  grave  the  winds  exhale 
The  fragrant  sorrow  of  her  tears. 

Sultans  and  slaves  in  caravans 

Since  Malik  Shah  have  gone  their  way, 

And  ridges  in  the  Kubberstans 
Are  their  memorials  to-day. 

But  from  the  dust  in  Omar's  tomb 

A  Fakir  has  revived  a  Rose, 
Perchance  the  old,  ancestral  bloom 

Of  that  one  by  the  mosque  which  blows; 

And  from  its  petals  he  has  caught 

The  inspiration  Omar  knew, 
Who  from  the  stars  his  wisdom  brought,  — 

A  Persian  Rose  that  drank  the  dew. 
[  82  1 


REVERY 

The  Fakir  now  in  dust  lies  low 
With  Omar  of  the  Orient ; 

Fitzgerald,  shall  we  call  him  ?  No  : 
'T  was  Omar  in  the  Occident ! 


REVERY 

c.  s. 

GIVE  me  my  happy  poet's  book 
And  let  me  find  a  sylvan  nook, 
Far  from  the  noisy  world  apart, 
And  near  enough  to  Nature's  heart 
To  hear  it  throb  and  feel  it  thrill, 
Yet  wonder  why  't  is  all  so  still. 

There,  thick  with  leaves,  the  branches  spread 

Their  canopy  of  green  o'erhead, 

Through  which  in  sudden  wind-torn  rifts 

The  sun  its  dusty  copper  sifts; 

And  there  a  dreamy  brook  runs  by,  — 

A  slender  strip  of  twilight  sky, 

Starred  with  its  ripples,  and  its  moon 

A  lily  lying  in  a  swoon 

Upon  its  bosom,  wan  and  white 

As  that  pale  wanderer  of  night. 

Birds  in  the  arching  boughs  above 
Fluting  their  melodies  of  love ; 


LYRICS  FOR  A  LUTE 

Bees  in  the  distance  humming  where 
The  blossom's  honey  scents  the  air ; 
And,  where  the  wild-flowers  cluster,  hosts 
Of  Psyches  hovering  like  ghosts 
Around  the  fragrant,  curtained  glooms, 
Clouding  the  air  with  winged  blooms. 

There  with  my  book,  a  flagon  filled 

With  wine  of  song  the  poet  spilled 

From  cups  of  love's  sweet  overflow 

In  happy  riot,  long  ago,  — 

With  Herrick,  from  whose  well-tuned  lute 

First  grew  the  lyric  bud  and  fruit,  — 

There,  in  the  shifting  sun  and  shade, 

In  fancy,  I  shall  see  that  maid 

To  whom  his  songs,  —  each  one  of  them 

Clean  cut  and  finished  as  a  gem,  — 

He  sang,  until  her  every  grace 

Found  in  his  limped  verse  a  place, 

That  she  with  him  might  live  as  long 

As  man  is  moved  by  love  and  song! 

Oh,  that  we,  too,  who  touch  the  string 
To-day  and  set  it  quivering, 
Whose  hearts  have  caught  one  little  spark 
Of  rhyme  in  this  prosaic  dark, 
Unto  our  verses  might  but  give 
That  subtile  touch  to  make  them  live, 
Like  Herrick' s,  after  we  are  gone ! 
That  all  our  lines  might  linger  on 


ISRAFEL 

The  lips  of  those  who  later  shall 
Love  lyric  brief  and  madrigal ; 
And  immortality  for  us 
In  melody  be  vouchsafed  thus ! 

AT  MIDNIGHT 

SEE,  yonder,  the  belfry  tower 
That  gleams  in  the  moon's  pale  light ; 
Or  is  it  a  ghostly  flower 

That  dreams  in  the  silent  night  ? 

I  listen  and  hear  the  chime 

Go  quavering  o'er  the  town, 
And  out  of  this  flower  of  Time 

• 

Twelve  petals  are  wafted  down. 

ISRAFEL 

FROM  Paradise  what  soul  with  wings 
In  yonder  green  spray  hides  and  sings, 
Weaving  within  the  fragrant  gloom 
Song-fabrics  on  the  morning's  loom  ? 

'T  is  Israfel  returned  to  us, 
Making  the  world  melodious : 
He,  he  it  is  who  sows  the  air, 
With  seeds  of  music  everywhere, 
Until  the  charmed  space  around 
Grows  sweet  with  blossomings  of  sound. 
[85] 


LYRICS  FOR  A  LUTE 

In  ecstasy  the  fields  lie  mute, 

Spelled  by  the  magic  of  his  lute ; 

The  trees  are  hushed  the  while  to  hear 

The  cadence  falling  liquid-clear ; 

The  winds  hold  in  their  breath,  lest  they 

Cheat  of  one  dulcet  note  the  day ; 

And  through  the  meadow,  lisping  low, 

The  naiads  silver-sandaled  go, 

Or  drowsy  grown  beside  the  streams, 

Lie  drinking  music's  wine  of  dreams; 

And  I,  enraptured,  in  the  dell 

Pause,  listening  to  Israfel : 

Oblivious  of  all  beside, 

Dreaming,  I  drift  upon  the  tide 

Of  melody  until  my  eyes 

Picture  him  there  in  Paradise,  — 

When  lo,  there  comes  a  sudden  hush; 

T  is  earth,  —  and  yonder  soars  a  thrush ! 


BACKLOG  DREAMS 

A3OVE  the  glowing  embers 
I  hear  the  backlog  sing 
The  music  it  remembers 

Of  some  remembered  Spring; 
Back  to  the  branch  forsaken 
Return  its  jocund  choir 
And  in  the  chimney  waken 
A  melody  of  fire. 
[86] 


BACKLOG   DREAMS 

The  sparks'  red  blossoms  glisten 

And  flash  their  glances  brief 
At  me  who  lean  and  listen 

And  dream  I  hear  the  leaf, 
On  some  May  morning  sunny, 

Low  lisping  in  the  tree,  — 
Or,  in  his  haunt  of  honey, 

A  bloom-enamored  bee : 

Or  't  is  the  soft  wind  blowing 

Its  sweetness  from  the  South, 
A  fragrant  kiss  bestowing 

Upon  the  rose's  mouth; 
And  ere  the  spell  is  broken, 

Or  darkness  o'er  it  slips, 
I  see  the  scarlet  token 

Of  love  upon  her  lips. 

Without,  the  storm  is  bitter, 

The  snowflakes  fill  the  night; 
Within,  the  embers  glitter 

And  gild  the  room  with  light; 
And  in  the  fire-place  gleaming 

The  backlog  sings  away, 
And  mingles  all  my  dreaming 

With  birds  and  blooms  and  May. 


[87] 


LYRICS  FOR  A  LUTE 


SORCERY 

AROSE  on  a  spray  where  a  brown  bird  sang, 
Looked  down,  with  a  blush  on  her  lovely  face, 
And  saw,  lying  coiled  in  the  fragrant  place, 
A  green  little  snake  with  a  forked  fang. 

Then  swift  from  her  cheek  fled  the  crimson  blush ; 

No  longer  she  dreamed  of  the  bird's  sweet  song ; 

But  trembled  with  fear,  lest  the  poisoned  prong 
Should  strike  and  the  lyric  forever  hush. 

And  lo,  when  the  serpent  had  slipped  away, 
And  vanished  the  bird  in  the  blue  above, 
Two  maids  in  the  morning  of  new-found  love 

Bent  over  the  bloom  on  the  slender  spray ! 

And  one  in  her  heart  felt  a  strange  delight,  — 
A  thought  of  the  bird  made  the  rose  blush  red ! 
And  one  in  her  heart  felt  a  sudden  dread,  — 

A  thought  of  the  snake  made  the  rose  blanch  white ! 


MOTHS 

GHOSTS  of  departed  winged  things, 
What  memories  are  those 
That  tempt  you  with  your  damask  wings 
Here  where  my  candle  glows  ? 
[  88  ] 


ON   A   GREEK   VASE 

Vainly  you  hover,  circling  oft 

The  tongue  of  yellow  flame : 
A  tiger  by  caresses  soft 

You  vainly  seek  to  tame. 

Here  is  no  hope  for  you  :  nay,  here 

Death  lurks  within  the  light, 
To  leap  upon  you  flying  near 

And  sweep  you  from  the  night ! 

Moon-butterflies,  back  to  your  blooms 

Born  of  the  dew  and  stars ! 
Hence,  ghosts,  and  find  again  your  glooms 

Hidden  by  shadow-bars ! 

Quick,  —  speed  across  the  dusky  blue, 

Lest,  in  a  sudden  breath, 
This  tawny  tiger  wake,  and  you 

Endure  a  second  death ! 


ON  A  GREEK  VASE 

DIVINELY  shapen  cup,  thy  lip 
Unto  me  seemeth  thus  to  speak 
"  Behold  in  me  the  workmanship 

The  grace  and  cunning  of  a  Greek ! 

"  Long  ages  since  he  mixed  the  clay, 

Whose  sense  of  symmetry  was  such, 
The  labor  of  a  single  day 

Immortal  grew  beneath  his  touch. 
[89] 


LYRICS  FOR  A  LUTE 

"  Far  dreaming  while  his  fingers  went 
Around  this  slender  neck  of  mine, 
The  form  of  her  he  loved  was  blent 
With  every  matchless  curve  and  line. 

"  Her  loveliness  to  me  he  gave 

Who  gave  unto  herself  his  heart, 

That  love  and  beauty  from  the  grave 

Might  rise  and  live  again  in  art." 

And  hearing  from  thy  lips  this  tale 
Of  love  and  skill,  of  art  and  grace, 

Thou  seem'st  to  me  no  more  the  frail 
Memento  of  an  older  race ; 

But  in  thy  form  divinely  wrought 
And  figured  o'er  with  fret  and  scroll, 

I  dream,  by  happy  chance  was  caught, 
And  dwelleth  now  that  maiden's  soul. 


MOODS 

UPON  a  mountain-summit  high, 
A  trysting  place  of  earth  and  sky, 
Three  friends  once  stood  in  silent  awe, 
Each  contemplating  what  he  saw. 

One  gazing  on  the  landscape  found 
In  changing  features  only  sound : 
To  him  it  was  a  memory 
Of  some  majestic  symphony. 
[90] 


FULFILMENT 

Another  in  the  vastness  caught, 
The  essence  of  a  poet's  thought, 
The  measures  of  a  noble  rhyme 
Enduring  as  eternal  time. 

The  third,  —  a  stranger  to  those  arts 

That  moved  and  thrilled  his  comrades'  hearts, 

Remembered  with  a  nameless  dread 

The  face  of  one  whom  he  saw  dead. 


FULFILMENT 

IN  the  hush  of  the  night  he  heard 
A  voice,  and  his  heart  said,  "  Hark !  " 
And  the  song  of  a  distant  bird 
Went  quavering  through  the  dark. 

Like  a  lost  little  child  it  sobbed 

As  far  as  the  purple  hill, 
And  the  valley  with  music  throbbed 

A  moment,  then  all  was  still. 

Then  the  heart  in  his  bosom  cried, 

"Alas,  'tis  a  grievous  wrong 
That  the  multitude  be  denied 

The  sweetness  of  such  a  song : 

u  T  were  a  poet's  divinest  art 

The  words  of  that  song  to  write !  " 
So  he  wrote  for  the  eager  heart 
The  song  of  the  bird  at  night. 
[91  1 


LYRICS  FOR  A  LUTE 

And  it  went  like  the  night-bird's  voice 

Out  into  a  world  of  gloom ; 
And  his  heart  had  its  dearest  choice, 
And  slept  in  a  poet's  tomb ! 


w 


MNEMOSYNE'S  MIRROR 

HEN  Summer  comes  and  brings  the  rose, 
My  glass  the  winter's  landscape  shows : 
The  spectral  wood  and  shrouded  field, 
The  garden's  lips  in  silence  sealed, 
The  north-wind's  icy  bitter  breath 
As  't  were  the  stirrup-cup  of  death  ; 
The  pulseless  brook,  the  absent  song, 
The  sunlight  brief  and  shadows  long. 


But  comes  December's  day,  and  then 
My  mirror  shows  me  June  again : 
The  garden's  million  lips  of  bloom 
Speaking  their  language  of  perfume  ; 
The  lyric  quavers  of  the  thrush 
Shot,  arrow  like,  across  the  hush ; 
The  laughing  brook,  the  lisping  leaf, 
The  sunlight  long  and  shadows  brief. 

Grant  me,  Mnemosyne,  when  old, 
This  magic  mirror  still  to  hold, 
Transforming  Time  in  such  a  way 
That  I  shall  see  Youth's  yesterday 
[92  1 


ATTAINMENT 

Reflected  there,  and  view  once  more 
My  boat  upon  Life's  morning  shore : 
What  else  —  I  heed  not  —  take  from  me  ; 
Leave  but  this  glass  of  memory ! 

TIME'S  SONG 

THE  days  come, 
And  the  days  go ! 
The  bees  hum 

Where  the  roses  blow : 
The  days  go, 

And  the  leaves  burn  : 
The  birds  know, 

And  to  home  return. 

The  days  come, 

And  the  days  go  ! 
And  all  dumb 

Lies  the  world  in  snow: 
The  days  go, 

And  the  year's  rhyme 
Is  made  so 

By  the  poet,  Time  1 

ATTAINMENT 

FROM  the  marble  of  his  thought 
Are  the  poet's  fancies  wrought 
Into  forms  of  symmetry, 
Into  rhyme  and  melody : 

[93] 


LYRICS  FOR  A  LUTE 

Not  by  any  magic  feat 

Comes  the  statue  forth  complete ; 

Only  patient  labor,  long, 

Can  create  the  perfect  song ; 

Only  love  that  does  not  tire 

Can  attain  its  high  desire,  — 

Love  that  deems  no  gift  of  time 

Wasted,  so  it  win  the  rhyme 

One  elusive  word  to  start 

Life  within  the  lyric's  heart. 

Still  the  Parthenon  for  us  — 

Jewel  of  Pentelicus 

Fashioned  centuries  ago  — 

Shines  with  undiminished  glow; 

Still  the  resurrected  bust, 

Buried  ages  in  the  dust, 

Holds  to-day  its  honored  place 

By  the  marvel  of  its  grace; 

So  the  poet's  song  shall  shine 

For  the  jewel  of  one  line ; 

So  his  lyric  shall  endure 

Be  the  carven  marble  pure. 

Toil  he  must  if  he  would  win 

Heaven's  gate  and  enter  in ; 

Labor  of  a  life-time  give 

That  the  sculptured  verse  shall  live ! 


[941 


PERPETUITY 


ALLAH'S  HOUSE 


N 


AN  AC,  the  faithful,  pausing  once  to  pray, 
From  holy  Mecca  turned  his  face  away. 


A  Moslem  priest,  who  chanced  to  see  him  there 
Forgetful  of  the  attitude  in  prayer, 

Cried,  "  Infidel,  how  durst  thou  turn  thy  feet 
Toward  Allah's  house  —  the  sacred  temple's  seat  ?  " 

To  whom  the  pious  Nanac  thus  replied : 
"  Know'st  thou  God's  house  is,  as  the  world  is,  wide  ? 

"  Thou,  turn  them  if  thou  canst  toward  any  spot 
Where  mighty  Allah's  awful  house  is  not  ? " 


PERPETUITY 

1  HEARD  a  sweet  voice  singing  in  the  night 
A  tender  love-song  written  years  ago, 
To  ease  a  poet's  heart  of  that  deep  woe 
Born  of  long  absence  from  its  dear  delight ; 
And  as  the  music  like  a  bird  took  flight 

Across  the  shadowed  world  and  vanished  so, 
I  thought  of  him  who  wrote  it,  —  did  he  know 
How  Time  would  keep  his  jewel-lyric  bright  ? 

[95] 


LYRICS  FOR  A  LUTE 

O  Poet  of  to-day,  whose  heart  would  sing 

Some  simple  song  of  love,  and  sweet  words  give 

To  mate  the  melody  that  thrills  the  lute,  — 
Sing  on,  nor  heed  what  lips  are  murmuring 
To  scorn  your  art :  one  perfect  song  shall  live 
For  love  and  you  long  after  they  are  mute ! 


A  HOLLYHOCK 

QUATRAINS 

SUNRISE 

BLOOMS  in  the  east  when  darkness  goes 
A  radiant,  cloud-petal  rose, 
Out  of  whose  iridescent  heart 
The  yellow  bees  of  sunlight  dart. 

MOONRISE 

WITHIN  this  silent  palace  of  the  Night, 
See  how  the  moon,  like  some  huge  phantom 

moth, 

Creeps  slowly  up  across  the  azure  cloth 
That  hangs  between  the  darkness  and  the  light ! 

A  HOLLYHOCK 

SERAGLIO  of  the  Sultan  Bee  I 
I  listen  at  the  waxen  door, 
And  hear  the  zithern's  melody 

And  sound  of  dancing  on  the  floor. 


[971 


LYRICS  FOR  A  LUTE 


WINTER'S  BEGGAR 

WHERE  heedless  winds  around  him  blow, 
The  Tree,  a  tattered  beggar,  stands, 
And  reaches  out  his  empty  hands 
To  catch  the  silver  of  the  snow. 


CONTRAST 

IN  her  dark  hair  a  lustrous  jewel  gleams, 
A  single  star  upon  the  edge  of  night : 
Dazzling  it  is,  and  yet  how  dull  it  seems 

Beside  her  face, — drowned  in  the  morning's  light. 


SUN  AND  MOON 

BY  day  in  Allah's  azure  urn 
The  sun,  a  fire,  is  made  to  burn : 
And  from  its  ashes  there  by  night 
The  moon,  a  lily,  blossoms  white. 


SURF  MUSIC 

LYING  beside  the  margin  of  the  deep, 
I  hear  the  music  of  mysterious  streams 
Sung  by  the  waves  ;  —  like  voices  heard  in  dreams 
Moving  along  the  shadowed  shore  of  sleep. 

[98] 


LYRICS 


LYRICS 

IN  Nature's  open  book 
An  epic  is  the  sea, 
A  lyric  is  the  brook  :  — 
Lyrics  for  me ! 


LYRICS  FOR  A  LUTE 

LOVE 

AN  OLD  SONG 

OFTENTIMES  there  come  to  me 
Scraps  of  music-memory 
That  have  slept,  alas,  how  long ! 
In  the  quiet  night  of  song. 
I  can  mark  the  measured  time, 
I  can  catch  the  notes  that  rhyme, 
Till  it  seems  I  almost  hear 
Whispered  words  within  my  ear ; 
Yet,  for  all  I  listen  so 
To  them  as  they  come  and  go, 
Shreds  of  only  one  refrain 
In  my  memory  remain. 

Long  ago  the  song  was  sung, 
Long  ago,  when  I  was  young, 
And  my  heart  in  time  would  beat 
With  the  music  soft  and  sweet. 
There  was  something  that  would  start 
Glad  emotions  in  my  heart, 
Something  in  the  words  which  made 
Joy  grow  bright  and  sorrow  fade, 
Something  in  the  notes  of  joy 
Giving  courage  to  the  boy 
Long  ago,  ere  he  began 
Dreaming  of  the  present  man. 
ioo 


THE   LAST   LETTER 

Never  comes  this  strain  but  I 
Seem  to  feel  her  standing  by. 
Oh,  that  all  the  notes  might  come 
Back  from  lips  forever  dumb, 
So  that  I  might  render  whole 
This  marred  music  of  the  soul! 
Oh,  that  I  again  might  bring 
Back  this  song  she  used  to  sing ! 
I  should  sing  it  till  my  eyes, 
Through  a  rift  in  Paradise, 
Caught  a  vision  of  her  face 
Smiling  from  her  dwelling-place ; 
I  should  sing  it  line  by  line 
Till  her  lips  should  answer  mine ; 
I  should  sing  it  o'er  and  o'er 
Till  I  seemed  a  boy  once  more,  — 
Till  my  dream  should  bring  in  truth 
Her  who  sang  it  to  my  youth ! 


THE  LAST  LETTER 

LONG  years  within  its  sepulchre 
Of  faintly  scented  cedar 
Has  lain  this  letter  dear  to  her 

Who  was  its  constant  reader : 

The  postmark  on  the  envelope 

Sufficed  the  date  to  give  her, 

And  told  the  birth  of  patient  hope 

That  managed  to  outlive  her. 


LYRICS  FOR  A  LUTE 

How  often  to  this  treasure-box, 

Tears  in  her  eyes'  soft  fringes, 
She  came  with  key  and  turned  the  locks, 

And  on  its  brazen  hinges 
Swung  back  the  quaintly  figured  lid, 

And  raised  a  sandal  cover, 
Disclosing,  under  trinkets  hid, 

This  message  from  her  lover. 

Then  lifting  it  as  't  were  a  child, 

Her  hand  awhile  caressed  it 
Ere  to  the  lips  that  sadly  smiled 

Time  and  again  she  pressed  it ; 
Then  drew  the  small  inclosure  out 

And  smoothed  the  wrinkled  paper, 
Lest  any  line  should  leave  a  doubt 

Or  any  word  escape  her. 

Still  held  the  olden  charm  its  place 

Amid  the  tender  phrases ; 
Time  seemed  unwilling  to  efface 

The  love-pervaded  praises : 
And  though  a  thousand  lovers  might 

Have  matched  them  all  for  passion, 
A  poet  were  inspired  to  write 

In  their  unstudied  fashion. 

From  "  Darling  "  slowly,  word  by  word, 

She  read  the  tear-stained  treasure : 

[  102  1 


PEPITA 

The  mists  by  which  her  eyes  were  blurred 
Grew  out  of  pain  and  pleasure ; 

But  when  she  reached  that  cherished  name 
And  saw  the  last  leave-taking, 

The  mist  a  storm  of  grief  became,  — 
Her  very  heart  was  breaking ! 

I  put  it  back,  —  this  old-time  note, 

Which  seems  like  sorrow's  leaven, 
For  she  who  read,  and  he  who  wrote, 

Please  God,  are  now  in  heaven. 
If  lovers  of  to-day  could  win 

Such  love  as  won  this  letter, 
The  world  about  us  would  begin 

To  gladden  and  grow  better. 

PEPITA 

UP  in  her  balcony  where 
Vines  through  the  lattices  run 
Spilling  a  scent  on  the  air, 

Setting  a  screen  to  the  sun, 
Fair  as  the  morning  is  fair, 

Sweet  as  a  blossom  is  sweet, 
Dwells  in  her  rosy  retreat 
Pepita. 

Often  a  glimpse  of  her  face, 
When  the  wind  rustles  the  vine 

Parting  the  leaves  for  a  space, 
Gladdens  this  window  of  mine ; 

t  io3] 


LYRICS  FOR  A  LUTE 
Pink  in  its  leafy  embrace, 

Pink  as  the  morning  is  pink, 
Sweet  as  a  blossom  I  think 
Pepita. 

I  who  dwell  over  the  way 

Watch  where  Pepita  is  hid, 
Safe  from  the  glare  of  the  day, 
Like  an  eye  under  its  lid : 

Over  and  over  I  say 

Name  like  the  song  of  a  bird, 

Melody  shut  in  a  word, 

"  Pepita." 

Look  where  the  little  leaves  stir! 

Look,  the  green  curtains  are  drawn ! 
There  in  a  blossomy  blur 

Breaks  a  diminutive  dawn 

Dawn  and  the  pink  face  of  her ! 
Name  like  a  lisp  of  the  south, 

Fit  for  a  rose's  small  mouth, 

Pepita ! 

HER  SMILE  HIS  SUNLIGHT 

SWEETHEART,  when  rhymes  I  make 
For  your  dear  sake, 

You  bring 

Into  your  face  a  smile 
To  cheer  me  while 
I  sing 

[  104  ] 


HER   SMILE   HIS   SUNLIGHT 

Like  to  that  bird  am  I, 
Which,  when  the  sky 

At  night 

A  deeper  azure  grows, 
No  longer  knows 
Delight ; 

Or  like  of  flowers  that  one 
Which  loves  the  sun, 

And  gives 

The  beauty  of  its  bloom 
To  him  for  whom 
It  lives. 

Pleasure  nor  joy  to  bless 
Have  I  unless 
Your  face 

Over  my  paper  shines 
And  lights  the  lines 
With  grace. 

For  me  your  smile  is  day  — 
The  golden  ray 

That  climbs 
Imagination's  wall 

And  sweetens  all 
My  rhymes. 

For  you  the  bird's  song,  this ; 
The  flower's  fresh  kiss 
And  breath ; 
[  105] 


LYRICS  FOR  A  LUTE 

Nor  may  their  nightfall  come 

Till  both  are  dumb 

In  death ! 


TO  A  ROSE 

GO,  Rose,  and  in  her  golden  hair 
You  shall  forget  the  garden  soon ; 
The  sunshine  is  a  captive  there 

And  crowns  her  with  a  constant  noon. 


And  when  your  spicy  odor  goes, 

And  fades  the  beauty  of  your  bloom, 

Think  what  a  lovely  hand,  O  Rose, 
Shall  place  your  body  in  the  tomb ! 


UNDER  HER  BALCONY 

UP,  slender  vine,  your  love  is  mine ; 
I  watch  you  as  you  go, 
A  lyric  budding  line  on  line 

With  blossom  rhymes  a-row ! 
Up,  up,  until  her  window-sill, 

Like  Heaven's  gate  in  sight, 
Makes  all  your  heart  with  hope  to  fill 
And  bloom  with  its  delight  1 
f  106  1 


AD   ASTRA 

And  when  her  eyes'  soft  twilight  lies 

Upon  you  nestled  there, 
When  all  about  you  is  surprise, 

And  all  below,  despair, 
Then  to  my  Sweet,  my  love  repeat ; 

Yield  her  one  perfect  bloom, 
Which,  though  it  perish  at  her  feet, 

May,  ghostlike,  haunt  her  room. 

But  if  her  mind  and  heart  be  kind, 

And  grant  you  gracious  rest, 
And  for  this  gift  a  pillow  find, 

And  fold  it  to  her  breast,  — 
Up,  up !  I  burn  my  fate  to  learn 

From  her  who  waits  above  ; 
Let  but  a  leaf  to  earth  return,  — 

Her  answer  and  her  love ! 


AD  ASTRA 

BLOSSOM,  little  stars,  and  fill 
The  garden  of  the  sky ; 
Drops  of  wine  that  you  distil 
Upon  the  grasses  lie. 

Every  thirsty  blade  holds  up 

A  blessing  to  the  blue, 
Every  thirsty  flower  its  cup 

Fills  with  the  heaven's  dew. 
[  107  1 


LYRICS  FOR  A  LUTE 

Blossom,  little  stars  of  love, 
In  my  beloved's  heart ; 

Blossom  like  the  stars  above, 
And  into  gladness  start. 

Far  beneath  you  there  is  one 
Who  dares  a  cup  to  raise : 

He  has  thirsted  in  the  sun 
These  many  dreary  days. 

Blossom,  blossom  soon,  and  bring 
Love's  gladness  and  the  wine 

To  revive  the  hopes  that  spring 
Up  in  this  heart  of  mine. 


CONTENTMENT 

A  GIRL  to  love,  a  pipe  to  smoke, 
Enough  to  eat  and  drink ; 
A  friend  with  whom  to  crack  a  joke, 

And  one  to  make  me  think ; 
A  book  or  two  of  simple  prose, 
A  thousand  more  of  rhyme : 
No  matter  then  how  fast  Time  goes, 
I  take  no  heed  of  Time  ! 

The  little  wife  inspires  my  thought 

With  serious  intent ; 
She  cheers  me  with  her  wisdom  fraught 

With  love  and  sentiment : 
I  io8l 


HELIOTROPE 

Or  prose  to  read,  or  rhyme  to  sing, 
She  makes  them  each  sublime : 

No  matter  then  how  Time  takes  wing, 
I  take  no  heed  of  Time ! 

God  grant  me  that  when  grown  so  old 

Nor  pipe  nor  glass  I  crave, 
The  little  wife  and  books  may  hold 

My  heart  unto  the  grave : 
There  let  me  sleep  in  peace  below 

The  turf,  where  ivies  climb : 
No  matter  then  how  Time  shall  go, 

I  take  no  heed  of  Time ! 


HELIOTROPE 

GO,  Heliotrope, 
Unto  my  Sweet  and  tell 
How,  like  a  harbinger  of  hope, 
You  come  to  dwell 

Near  her,  and  pray  to  rest 
Upon  her  breast. 

Tell  her  for  me 

In  whispers  of  perfume, 
How  like  the  golden  sun  is  she, 
To  which  your  bloom 
Forever  turns  its  face 
Beseeching  grace. 
f  109] 


LYRICS  FOR  A  LUTE 

Say,  even  so 

The  blossom  of  my  love 
Looks  from  its  land  of  doubt  below 
To  her  above, 

Waiting  one  word  to  slip 
Her  scarlet  lip. 

Then  if  you  feel 

Her  heart  with  joy  beat  fast, 
Or  if  with  one  sweet  kiss  she  seal 
Your  lips  at  last, 

And  leave  you  stricken  dumb 
Until  I  come : 

Seeing  you  there 

Upon  her  bosom,  I 

Shall  know  what  answer  to  my  prayer 
She  makes,  and  lie 

Beside  you  dumb  with  bliss, 
Sealed  by  her  kiss. 


VALENTINES 


LOVE,  at  your  door  young  Cupid  stands 
And  knocks  for  you  to  come : 
The  frost  is  in  his  feet  and  hands, 
His  lips  with  cold  are  numb. 
[  no] 


VALENTINES 

Grant  him  admittance,  sweetheart  mine, 

And  by  your  cheering  fire 
His  lips  shall  loosen  as  with  wine 

And  speak  forth  my  desire. 

He  left  me  not  an  hour  ago, 

And  when  the  rascal  went 
Barefooted  out  into  the  snow, 

I  asked  him  whither  bent. 
Quoth  he :  "  To  her  whose  face  is  like 

A  garden  full  of  flowers : 
To  her  whose  smiles  like  sunlight  strike 

Across  the  winter  hours." 

No  more  he  said,  nor  need  of  more 

Had  I  to  know.    I  knew 
His  path  lay  straight  unto  your  door : 

That  face  belongs  to  you  ! 
"  God-speed,"  I  cried,  "  and  give  her  this, 

When  you  her  face  shall  see ;  " 
And  on  his  lips  I  set  a  kiss, 

A  valentine  from  me ! 

ii 

I  care  not  that  the  snow  lies  deep 

Upon  the  world  about : 
The  hidden  flowers,  they  lie  asleep 

And  dream,  and  never  doubt 
But  Spring  shall  come  again  and  set 

The  rubies  on  the  vine : 
[  in  1 


LYRICS  FOR  A  LUTE 

The  faithful  Year  shall  not  forget 
Her  valentine. 

I  care  not  that  a  thousand  miles 

Keep  me  and  mine  apart, 
For  when  upon  this  page  she  smiles 

And  gladdens  in  her  heart, 
Like  Spring,  the  sun  returns  to  me 

And  cheers  these  eyes  of  mine : 
My  sweetheart  promises  to  be 

My  valentine. 

Be  still,  my  heart,  and  like  the  flowers 

Asleep  beneath  the  snow, 
Dream  on,  and  soon  the  sunny  hours 

Shall  wake  you  dreaming  so : 
And  when  the  Summer's  stars  above 

Drip  with  their  dewy  wine, 
The  flowers  shall  come,  and  with  them,  love, 

And  valentine ! 


ON  A  .CLOCK 

LONELY  once,  my  love  away, 
To  this  slave  of  Time  I  cried : 
"  Faster  on  your  journey  glide, 
Let  your  feet  no  second  stay ; 
Speed  the  dreary  night  and  day !  " 
He,  all  heedless,  obstinate, 
Never  quickened  in  his  gait. 


TO   WINTER 

Happy  once,  my  love  in  sight, 
To  this  slave  of  Time  I  prayed ; 
"  Be  your  journey  slowly  made, 

Loiter  with  me  in  delight; 

Stay  the  happy  day  and  night ! " 
Obstinate,  he  heard  at  last,  — 
Heard,  and  hurried  twice  as  fast. 


TO  WINTER 

GOOD  Winter,  hear  this  wish  I  write 
Before  the  red  leaves  blow 
Across  the  sky 
To  droop  and  die, 
And  sleep  beneath  the  snow ; 
Before  the  birds  have  taken  flight 
Unto  a  gentler  clime, 
And  for  my  thought 
Have  left  me  naught 
Of  melody  or  rhyme. 

The  purple  clusters  in  the  leaves 
Of  grapes  already  ripe  ; 
The  chestnut  burrs 
Half  burst ;  the  slurs 
Upon  the  robin's  pipe  ; 
The  shrill  wind  whistling  round  the  eaves ; 
The  dawn's  white  gossamer  — 
[  "3  I 


LYRICS  FOR  A  LUTE 

All  these  awake 
The  wish  I  make, 
Good  Winter,  just  for  her. 

My  Love,  a  blossom  fair  is  she ; 
Lithe  as  a  lily  stem  : 

Her  voice  and  words 

So  like  the  birds' 
Will  make  you  think  of  them. 
Good  Winter,  keep  her  safe  for  me, 
Leave  to  her  face  its  smile, 

And  to  her  heart 

Of  love  that  part 
Which  makes  my  wish  worth  while  I 

HIS  STARLIGHT 

YOU  who  at  my  elbow  sit, 
By  whose  eyes  my  lines  are  lit, 
How  shall  any  poet's  pen 
Go  amiss  or  falter  when 
Stars  like  these  shine  out  above  — 
Beacons  kindled  there  by  Love  — 
Lighting  up  the  paths  below 
Where  he  wanders  to  and  fro. 

Is  it  strange  the  rhymes  should  kiss 
Under  such  a  spell  as  this  ? 
They  but  mimic  those,  my  Sweet, 
Who  of  old  were  wont  to  meet, 
[  114] 


UNSPOKEN 

Meet  and  linger  at  the  bars, 
Making  love  beneath  the  stars : 
We  ourselves  were  happy  rhymes 
In  those  dear,  betrothal  times. 

Take  this  lyric  :  every  line 
But  reflects  the  stars  that  shine 
O'er  my  shoulder,  telling  me 
Of  my  sweetheart's  constancy ! 
And  if  any  word  appear 
Vague  or  needless,  say  you  :  Here 
Went  a  cloud  across  his  skies  ; 
This  is  where  its  shadow  lies. 

But  should  any  turn  of  phrase 
Win  your  lips  to  speak  its  praise, 
Know  you  then  the  happy  thought 
From  your  eyes  the  poet  caught : 
All  the  graces  of  his  song 
To  those  constant  stars  belong, — 
To  those  tender  eyes  that  brim 
Full  with  love  to  gladden  him. 


UNSPOKEN 

LOVE,  when  we  parted,  you  and  I, 
Who  had  been  friends  so  many  years, 
How  many  times  a  last  good-by 
Rose  to  the  surface  of  my  tears ! 


LYRICS  FOR  A  LUTE 

There  never  once  to  it  you  cast 
A  strand  of  hope  its  life  to  save, 

But  watched  it  to  the  very  last, 
And  saw  it  sink  into  its  grave. 

And  now  to  you,  away  so  far, 
The  winging  of  that  spirit-word 

As  futile  seems  as  to  a  star 

The  flight  of  some  enamored  bird 


SONG 

SONG  like  a  rose  should  be ; 
Each  rhyme  a  petal  sweet ; 
For  fragrance,  melody, 
That  when  her  lips  repeat 

The  words  her  heart  may  know 
What  secret  makes  them  so  :  — 
Love,  only  Love  ! 

Go,  then,  my  song,  —  a  rose 

Fashioned  of  love  and  rhyme ; 
Unto  her  heart  disclose 
That  secret  old  as  time,  — 
Old,  yet  forever  new  ! 
Go,  then,  and  tell  her  true :  — 
Love,  only  Love! 


[  116] 


THE  NUN'S   ROSE 

THE  NUN'S  ROSE 

OVER  the  convent  wall 
Clambers  a  rose-vine  sweet, 
Letting  its  fragrant  blossoms  fall 
Into  the  dusty  street. 

Hither  the  weary  guest, 

Drawn  by  the  fresh  perfume, 

Pauses  to  dream  awhile  and  rest 
Under  the  spray  of  bloom  : 

Lingers  to  dream  of  those 
Who,  in  their  quiet  hours, 

Dwelling  within  the  garden-close, 
Wander  among  the  flowers. 

What  of  their  holy  deeds 
Ponders  the  dreamer  there  ? 

Is  it  the  rosaries  of  beads 
Counted  in  silent  prayer  ? 

Is  it  the  chants  they  sing? 

Is  it  the  fast  they  keep  ? 
Is  it  the  words  of  comforting 

Spoken  to  those  who  weep  ? 

Nay,  't  is  of  her  whose  love 
Moved  her  to  train  this  vine 

Over  the  convent  wall  above, 
Breathing  a  scent  like  wine. 
[  117] 


LYRICS  FOR  A  LUTE 

Tokens  these  blossoms  seem 

Speaking  of  her  pure  life  : 
Petals  that  fall  like  dream  on  dream 

Into  a  world  of  strife. 

MEMORIES 

LONG  time  she  sat,  yet  never  touched  a  string,  - 
Her  thoughts  were  all  of  one  far,  far  away, 
One  dearly  loved,  whose  face  to  her  could  bring 
Desire  to  play. 

The  tune  —  ah,  well  she  knew  it !  —  and  the  words 

So  full  of  tenderness,  unsung  so  long, 
Hung  on  her  parted  lips  —  a  flock  of  birds 
Without  a  song. 

Anon,  the  music  to  her  finger-tips 

In  swift  pulsations  from  her  glad  heart  went, 
Then  quavered  to  the  song  upon  her  lips 
The  instrument. 

For  suddenly  across  the  strings  she  swept 

Her  slender  hand,  and  lo,  there  came  at  last 
The  melody  which  had  in  silence  slept 
The  whole  year  past ! 

Faintly  at  first,  with  every  touch  it  grew 

More  sweet,  and  filled  the  charmed  air  around, 
And  sang  within  her  ears  until  she  knew 
'T  was  joy  she  found. 
[  U8] 


DIRGE 

And  there,  alone,  she  held  the  graceful  form 

And  sang  to  it  as  't  were  a  babe  at  rest, 
Singing  itself  to  sleep,  and  growing  warm 
Against  her  breast. 

So,  happy  in  the  melody  she  wrought 
Upon  the  old  guitar  in  her  embrace, 
Her  eyes  grew  heavy,  closed,  and  slumber  brought 
Dreams  of  his  face. 

DIRGE 

LET  a  song  be  softly  sung ; 
Let  a  prayer  be  said  ; 
Let  a  solemn  bell  be  rung ;  — 
Love  is  dead ! 

With  the  early  buds  he  came 
When  the  snows  were  fled ; 
Lightly  lisped  the  leaves  his  name 
Overhead : 

Sang  the  birds  a  sweeter  strain ; 

Troops  of  roses  red 
Followed  in  a  laughing  train 
Where  he  led : 

Brighter  beamed  the  stars  above, 

And  the  soft  gales  sped 
Whispering  the  secret :  Love 
Soon  shall  wed  ! 
(  119  1 


LYRICS  FOR  A  LUTE 

Rang  the  bells  in  merry  chime 

When  the  promise  spread  : 
Poets  strung  with  beads  of  rhyme 
Fancy's  thread. 

Fragrant  petals  lightly  fell 

Where  his  feet  might  tread  : 
Blossoms  that  he  loved  so  well 
Were  his  bed. 

There  he  slumbers,  pale  and  cold : 

Let  a  tear  be  shed ; 
Let  a  solemn  bell  be  tolled ;  — 
Love  is  dead ! 


NOCTURNE 

LOVE,  throw  thy  lattice  open  to  the  night, 
And  shame  the  moon,  that  doth  so  sadly  shine 
Upon  the  world,  with  that  glad  face  of  thine ! 
Look  down  upon  me  with  thine  eyes  more  bright 
Than  those  of  angels  from  yon  dizzy  height 
Of  heaven  peering  out ;  and  be  it  mine 
To  feel  uplifted  to  thee,  like  a  vine 
Led  up  the  trellis  ladder  by  the  light ! 

Then,  while  the  earth  in  purple  shadows  deep 

Lies  hushed,  and,  dreaming,  slumber  all  the  birds, 
And  not  a  whisper  wakes  the  leaves  above,  — 
[  120] 


REMEMBRANCE 

Listen,  and  thou  shalt  hear  the  lute-strings  weep 
In  music  soft,  mourning  to  win  thy  words 
To  make  complete  their  melody  of  love  I 


D 


REMEMBRANCE 

AY  to  my  heart 
With  you  comes  always  fair 
When  you  depart 
T  is  twilight  there. 


Then  love  unbars 
The  door  of  dreams  for  me, 
And  lights  the  stars 
Of  memory. 


LYRICS  FOR  A  LUTE 


NATURE 

A  GREETING  FOR  SPRING 

LET  us  go  forth  and  meet  her 
As  she  comes  through  the  eastern  gates ; 
Let  us  away  to  greet  her 

Whom  the  lover-like  land  awaits 
In  a  rapturous  mood  to  bless, 
All  impatient  for  her  caress ; 
Let  us  mount  up  the  purple  slopes 
That  are  murmurous  with  their  hopes ; 
And  the  winds  speeding  on  before 

In  their  haste  to  be  first  shall  sing 
Of  the  earth's  wide  floor, 
That  is  dotted  o'er 

With  the  emerald  steps  of  Spring. 

Moses  upon  the  mountains 

Strikes  his  rod  on  the  marble  snow, 

Freeing  the  crystal  fountains  ; 

And  the  streams  through  the  plains  below 

Are  her  couriers  swift,  who  run 

In  the  glow  of  the  golden  sun 

Through  the  fields  on  their  twinkling  feet, 

With  the  gladdening  promise  sweet,  — 

She  is  coming  with  laughing  eyes 

[   122] 


A   GREETING   FOR   SPRING 

From  the  Orient's  sun-wrapped  land, 
From  the  land  that  lies 
Under  tranquil  skies 

Like  an  opal  in  Allah's  hand. 

Up  at  the  dawn's  first  waking 

From  her  dreams  in  the  night's  long  gloom  ! 
Up  when  the  east  is  breaking 

Like  a  rose  into  scarlet  bloom  ! 
When  the  buds  in  the  branches  shine, 
And  the  blood  of  the  slender  vine 
From  the  tip  of  each  tiny  stem 
Oozes  out  and  becomes  a  gem, 
Till  the  world  like  a  queen  is  drest 

For  a  carnival  glad  and  gay, 
And  awaits  her  guest 
In  the  curtained  west 

At  the  odorous  doors  of  day. 

Hark !  on  the  breeze  a  rally 

And  a  rustle  of  wings  is  heard ! 
Over  the  misty  valley 

Soars  a  heavenly  singing  bird, 
Like  a  sapphire  that  burns  with  song ; 
And  it  drops  to  the  earth  erelong, 
Where  it  kindles  a  mighty  choir 
Into  flames  of  lyric  fire  ; 
And  the  jewel  that  falls  to  earth 

In  the  silvery  sod  is  set, 
And  it  marks  the  birth 
I  123] 


LYRICS  FOR  A  LUTE 

Out  of  winter's  dearth 
Of  a  delicate  violet. 

Let  us  go  forth  and  linger 

At  the  gates  with  the  sunrise  bars ; 
Watch  for  her  rosy  finger 

As  she  slips  off  its  ring  of  stars, 
And  her  radiant  face  which  gleams 
With  the  joy  of  the  year's  sweet  dreams, 
And  her  eyes  like  the  morning  dews, 
And  her  cheeks  with  the  wild-flower  hues ; 
Let  us  watch  till  the  east  grows  bright 

With  her  glorious  robe  that  falls 
Like  a  wave  of  light 
On  the  shore  of  night, 

And  the  bird  to  the  valley  calls. 

Oh,  for  the  fragrant  presage 

Of  the  goddess  divinely  fair ! 
Oh,  for  the  flute-like  message, 

Making  melody  float  mid-air  ! 
For  the  flash  of  the  blue-bird's  wings ! 
For  the  gush  of  the  woodland  springs  1 
For  the  buds  in  the  vine-clad  bowers, 
And  the  breath  of  the  gentle  flowers ! 
We  shall  know  them  at  morning,  when 

All  the  shadows  of  night  are  furled ; 
We  shall  know  them  then,  — 
It  is  Spring  again, 

And  her  smile  is  upon  the  world ! 
[  124] 


NOONTIDE 


NOONTIDE 

NO  leaf  is  stirring  in  the  tree, 
The  drowsy  bird  forgets  his  tune  ; 
The  flower,  forsaken  by  the  bee, 
Hangs  silent  in  the  glaring  noon. 

Hushed  is  the  murmur  of  the  stream 
Whose  music  made  the  morning  sweet, 

And  on  its  tranquil  bosom  dream 
The  languid  lilies  in  the  heat. 

And  in  these  cradles  gently  rocked 
When  idle  eddies  catch  the  stems, 

Their  gauzy  wings  in  slumber  locked, 
Repose  the  dragon-flies  like  gems. 

This  is  the  golden  hour  of  rest, 

When,  half  his  circling  journey  done, 

Midway  between  the  east  and  west 
The  zenith  holds  the  eager  sun. 

And  not  until  his  fetters  break 

And  fall  in  shadows  on  the  ground, 

Shall  any  slumberers  awake, 

Or  Nature  know  a  breath  or  sound. 


125] 


LYRICS  FOR  A  LUTE 


THE  SKY-SHIP 

IN  the  soft  wind  that  blows, 
Yon  cloud-ship  of  the  sky 
Spreads  a  white  sail  and  throws 
A  shadow  where  I  lie. 

And  with  my  dream  is  blent 
A  breath  of  spice  and  gums 

Out  of  the  Orient 

Betraying  whence  she  comes. 

Unto  a  land  remote 
To  fill  its  rich  bazaars 

Sails  this  Arabian  boat 
Amid  the  island  stars. 

And  in  yon  harbor  calm 
Of  Heaven's  ocean  blue, 

Empties  her  freight  of  balm, 
The  twilight's  fragrant  dew ! 


A  WOODLAND  SPRING 

BENEATH  the  trees  whose  lisping  brood 
With  every  breath  of  summer  wake, 
And  in  the  grove's  green  solitude 
Soft  music  make, 

[  126] 


A  WOODLAND   SPRING 

A  sylvan  deity  her  pool 

Of  crystal  water  deep  has  hid, 
Perpetually  fresh  and  cool, 

The  rocks  amid. 


Gray,  like  a  carpet,  lies  the  moss, 

To  shield  from  ragged  stones  her  feet ; 

And  for  a  roof  the  branches  cross 
Above  and  meet. 

Birds  in  these  rafters  build  and  mate, 
And  rear  their  lyric-hearted  throng, 

And  teach  them  well  to  imitate 
Her  happy  song. 

Hither  came  I  upon  a  time 

To  rest  me  in  the  tranquil  shade, 

Led  by  a  brook  whose  limpid  rhyme 
Its  source  betrayed. 

I  watched  these  minstrels,  pair  by  pair, 
Come  to  the  fountain's  pebbly  brink 

And,  pausing  first  as  if  in  prayer, 
Dip  down  and  drink. 

They  seemed  to  know  the  goddess  who 
Presided  o'er  this  woodland  spring; 

And  I,  who  longed  to  know  her  too, 
Bade  them  to  sing. 
[  127  1 


LYRICS  FOR  A  LUTE 

Then,  as  they  sang,  awhile  I  knelt 
In  worship  at  her  sylvan  shrine ; 

And  even  as  I  prayed  I  felt 
Her  lips  touch  mine ! 


THE  NAIAD'S   CUP 

THIS  is  a  naiad's  drinking  cup 
The  water's  tireless  arm  held  up ; 
In  it  no  drops  of  wine  remain, 
Its  chaste  lip  wears  no  crimson  stain. 

No  footprint  by  the  water's  edge 
Betrays  to  whom  she  drank  the  pledge ; 
Only  this  empty  cup  whose  lip 
Speaks  naught  of  its  companionship. 

Who  knows  but  for  this  chalice  white 
A  star  was  stolen  from  the  night, 
From  whose  clear  jewel-grape  was  drawn 
The  dew  of  some  Parnassian  dawn ; 

And  as  the  precious  wine  distilled, 
One  drop  into  the  water  spilled, 
Pervading  all  the  purple  deep 
Wherein  this  naiad  lay  asleep ! 

Such  potency  that  flavor  knew, 
Her  dream  told  where  this  lily  grew ; 
One  taste,  and  she  awoke,  and  then 
Her  eyes  saw  Arcady  again ! 
[  128] 


ETERNITY   LANE 

The  East  was  reddening ;  the  West 
Was  shepherding  the  stars  to  rest ; 
But  ere  Apollo's  reign  began 
She  pledged  this  loving  cup  with  Pan ! 

ETERNITY  LANE 

THE  fence  on  either  side  is  down, 
Or  buried  under  vines  and  bushes, 
Save  where,  determined  not  to  drown, 
A  picket  through  the  tangle  pushes. 

On  its  gray  peak  the  birds  alight 

And  trill  their  carols  brief  and  tender ; 

All  day  a  beacon,  golden  bright, 
It  shines  in  solitary  splendor. 

But  through  the  creepers'  leafy  wall 
No  gleam  of  sunlight  ever  passes 

To  break  the  night  that  shadows  all 

The  cobwebbed  growth  of  groping  grasses. 

The  rain  that  rattles  on  the  leaves 
Outside  with  such  a  happy  laughter, 

Once  captive  in  this  prison,  grieves 
For  light  and  liberty  long  after. 

No  traveler  for  years  has  set 

His  foot  upon  the  pathway  hidden ; 

Nor  through  the  weeds  forever  wet 
For  years  has  any  horseman  ridden. 
[  129  1 


LYRICS  FOR  A  LUTE 

No  rut  remains  of  wagon-road ; 

The  gateway  has  no  gate  to  span  it ; 
Only  the  bat  and  bulging  toad 

Dare  venture  past  the  posts  of  granite. 

One  dreams,  so  silent  is  the  place 
With  all  its  life  and  light  departed, 

That  Time  has  finished  here  the  race, 
And  now  Eternity  has  started ! 


STORM 

THE  sun  sank  red  in  the  dull  gray  west 
Like  a  glowing  coal  in  a  bed  of  ashes  ; 
The  river  writhed  in  a  mad  unrest 

As  it  felt  the  scourge  of  the  wind's  keen  lashes ; 
No  star  outshone  on  the  Night's  dark  breast 

Scarred  with  livid  lines  of  the  lightning's  flashes ; 
And  he  came  with  a  voice  of  thunder 
O'er  the  mountains  that  trembled  under, 
And  a  sudden  thrill 
Ran  from  hill  to  hill, 
And  the  valley  was  dumb  with  wonder. 

Then  all  night  long  on  the  tangled  strings 
Of  the  tempest's  lute  did  the  wind  awaken 

Discordant  notes  from  their  slumberings, 
And  the  forest  cried  like  a  soul  forsaken. 

The  storm-bird  fluttered  his  dismal  wings 

And  the  rain-wrapt  land  like  a  leaf  was  shaken ! 

1 130] 


IN   THE   CLOVER 

And  he  called  in  a  voice  of  thunder 
O'er  the  mountains  that  rumbled  under, 

And  the  hosts  of  flame 

From  the  heavens  came, 
And  the  valley  was  filled  with  wonder. 

But,  lo,  dawn  smiles,  and  the  misty  world 

Like  a  pearl  is  plucked  from  its  ocean  dreaming; 

The  storm's  dark  pinions  at  last  are  furled 

In  the  fragrant  hush  of  the  sun's  bright  gleaming, 

And  where  the  arrows  of  fire  were  hurled, 

Lo,  the  face  of  Heaven  with  gladness  beaming ! 

God  has  silenced  the  voice  of  thunder 

O'er  the  mountains  that  echoed  under, 
And  the  bird's  sweet  song 
In  the  air  grows  strong, 

And  the  valley  is  hushed  with  wonder ! 


IN  THE  CLOVER 

IN  the  pasture's  clover  deep 
There  I  love  to  lie  and  sleep, 
Over  me  the  placid  sky, 
Blue  save  where  his  golden  eye 
Out  of  Heaven's  window  looks 
In  the  mirrors  of  the  brooks, 
That  Apollo  may  behold 
How  like  me  he  too  grows  old ; 
[  131  3 


LYRICS  FOR  A  LUTE 

All  about  me  billows  blown, 
Emerald  as  Ocean's  own, 
By  the  drowsy  dales  that  blow, 
Catching  fragrance  as  they  go. 

Crusoe  of  that  clover  isle, 
There  I  come  to  dream  awhile, 
Far  from  worry,  strife,  or  din, 
Shut  my  island  home  within. 
Deep-drawn  breaths  of  winy  air 
Are  the  nectar  I  drink  there ; 
Hebe  ne'er  her  draughts  served  up 
Brimming  such  a  sapphire  cup ! 
Thessaly  ne'er  grew  a  vine 
Yielding  such  a  sparkling  wine, 
Drinking  which  't  is  mine  to  feel 
Blissful  languor  o'er  me  steal ! 

Give  me  then  that  clover  bed 
With  its  blue  roof  overhead, 
There  to  lie  and  dream  away 
All  the  tedious  hours  of  day. 
Pan  shall  cheer  me  with  his  reed, 
Fauns  shall  dance  across  the  mead, 
Daphnis  tend  his  snowy  herds, 
And  Theocritus  make  words 
Mingle  in  soft  melody 
In  my  slumber-Sicily 
Set  the  clover  sea  amid, 
As  in  olden  days  he  did ! 


WINTER   STARLIGHT 


WINTER  STARLIGHT 

THE  air  is  keen,  the  sky  is  clear ; 
The  wind  has  gone  in  whispers  down ; 
And,  gleaming  in  the  atmosphere, 
A  jewel,  lies  the  lighted  town. 

The  winter's  mantle  stretches  white 
Upon  the  roofs  and  streets  below ; 

All  hushed  the  noises  of  the  night 
Against  the  bosom  of  the  snow. 

The  Moon  from  her  blue  dwelling-place 
Smiles  over  all,  so  pale,  so  fair, 

It  seems  the  Earth's  wan,  winter  face 
Reflected  in  a  mirror  there. 

Far  off  the  lonely  trees  uplift 

Their  naked  branches  like  the  spars 

Of  some  deserted  ship  adrift 
Under  a  canopy  of  stars. 

It  is  the  darkened  world  that  rides 
The  sea  of  space,  forever  drawn 

By  secret  winds  and  mighty  tides 
Unto  the  harbor  of  the  Dawn ! 


[  133  1 


LYRICS  FOR  A  LUTE 


DAYBREAK 

UNTO  his  parching  lips  a  cup 
Brimming  with  wine  the  hills  hold  up, 
Fresh  with  the  breath  of  bud  and  bloom, 
Cooled  in  the  caves  of  purple  gloom. 
One  long,  deep  draught  he  takes,  and  then 
Into  his  saddle  leaps  again, 
Scatters  the  gold  coins  left  and  right, 
And  speeds  beyond  the  gates  of  night : 
The  Years  are  at  his  heels,  —  away ! 
The  Sun  still  leads  them  by  a  day. 


ASPIRATION 

^;      BOOKS  :,,  -..- 

ASPIRATION 

T  T  TITHIN  the  meadow  of  Time's  book 
VV   Let  my  song  be  the  laughing  brook 

That  sings  along  its  silver  way 

As  't  were  a  dryad  gone  astray, 

Seeking  by  music's  balm  to  bless 

The  hunger  of  its  loneliness. 

Let  all  my  lines  like  ripples  run 

Forever  mirroring  the  sun  ; 

Gay  as  the  light  lisp  of  a  leaf, 

Unmarred  by  any  gust  of  grief ; 

Sweet  as  the  soft  south  wind  that  blows 

Its  tender  love-song  to  the  rose. 

So,  later,  if  my  rhymes  be  read 

By  maid  or  youth,  it  may  be  said : 

No  melancholy  strain  he  knew  ; 

His  skies  were  always  bright  and  blue. 

Life  seemed  for  him  to  slip  along 

As  smoothly  as  his  limpid  song. 
Which,  in  its  grace  and  simple  art, 

Echoes  the  gladness  in  his  heart. 


LYRICS   FOR   A   LUTE 


THE  FLY-LEAF  TO  THE  READER 

FRIEND,  stay  your  steps  awhile  before 
You  pass  within  the  open  door ; 
Bethink  you  in  what  manner  you 
Shall  greet  the  host ;  consider,  too, 
How  to  a  feast  of  all  his  best 
The  author  here  invites  his  guest, 
To  taste  his  meat  and  drink  his  wine, 
On  every  dish  to  freely  dine. 
And,  mind  you,  when  you  come  to  sit    > 
Before  the  board  whereon  his  wit 
And  wisdom  are  all  spread  to  make 
A  meal  for  your  mind's  stomach's  sake, 
To  bear  yourself  with  dignity 
And  treat  your  host  with  courtesy. 

If  any  dish  before  you  placed 
By  any  chance  offend  your  taste, 
Or  if  the  food  seem  wanting  aught 
Of  proper  seasoning,  say  naught. 
Eat  quietly,  and  when  you  go 
Forget  not  gratitude  to  show ; 
And,  being  gone,  if  you  repent 
The  precious  time  that  you  have  spent, 
Or  think  that  you  have  poorly  fared 
Upon  the  food  and  drink  prepared, 
Curse  not  this  book  —  the  wine  and  meat 
So  kindly  offered  you  to  eat. 
[  136] 


THE   LIBRARY 

The  author,  too,  spare  from  your  curse, 
And  do  not  go  from  bad  to  worse ; 
You  were  his  guest,  this  recollect, 
And  treat  him  only  with  respect. 
Keep  your  opinions  to  yourself, 
And  put  the  book  back  on  the  shelf. 
Think  this :  what  one  may  eat,  and  die, 
Another's  taste  may  satisfy. 


THE  LIBRARY 

GIVE  me  the  room  whose  every  nook 
Is  dedicated  to  a  book : 
Two  windows  will  suffice  for  air 
And  grant  the  light  admission  there ; 
One  looking  to  the  south,  and  one 
To  speed  the  red,  departing  sun. 
The  eastern  wall  from  frieze  to  plinth 
Shall  be  the  Poet's  labyrinth, 
Where  one  may  find  the  lords  of  rhyme 
From  Homer's  down  to  Dobson's  time : 
And  at  the  northern  side  a  space 
Shall  show  an  open  chimney-place, 
Set  round  with  ancient  tiles  that  tell 
Some  legend  old,  and  weave  a  spell 
About  the  firedog-guarded  seat, 
Where,  musing,  one  may  taste  the  heat : 
Above,  the  mantel  should  not  lack 
For  curios  and  bric-a-brac,  — 


LYRICS   FOR   A   LUTE 

Not  much,  but  just  enough  to  light 
The  room  up  when  the  fire  is  bright. 
The  volumes  on  this  wall  should  be 
All  prose  and  all  philosophy, 
From  Plato  down  to  those  who  are 
The  dim  reflections  of  that  star ; 
And  these  tomes  all  should  serve  to  show 
How  much  we  write  —  how  little  know; 
For  since  the  problem  first  was  set 
No  one  has  ever  solved  it  yet. 
Upon  the  shelves  along  the  west 
The  scientific  books  shall  rest ; 
Beside  them,  History ;  above,  — 
Religion,  —  hope,  and  faith,  and  love: 
Lastly,  the  southern  wall  should  hold 
The  story-tellers,  new  and  old ; 
Haroun  al  Raschid,  who  was  truth 
And  happiness  to  all  my  youth, 
Shall  have  the  honored  place  of  all 
That  dwell  upon  the  sunny  wall ; 
And  with  him  there  shall  stand  a  throng 
Of  those  who  help  mankind  along 
More  by  their  fascinating  lies 
Than  all  the  learning  of  the  wise. 

Such  be  the  library ;  and  take 

This  motto  of  a  Latin  make 

To  grace  the  door  through  which  I  pass : 

Hie  habitat  Felicitas! 

[  138] 


FORGOTTEN   BOOKS 


FORGOTTEN  BOOKS 

OF  books  I  sing,  but  not  of  those 
Which  any  book-collector  knows, — 
The  priceless,  rare  editions,  not,  — 
But  volumes  which  the  World  forgot 
And  with  them  those  who  wrote,  as  well, 
Before  they  had  a  chance  to  sell : 
Ephemerals  that  find  themselves 
With  the  Immortals  on  my  shelves. 
I  name  no  names,  for  if  I  should 
None  would  recall  them  now,  nor  could 
A  word  of  mine  bring  any  one 
Out  of  its  long  Oblivion. 
The  ink  on  many  fly-leaves  still 
Looks  quite  as  fresh  as  when  the  quill 
On  each  inscribed  an  author's  name, 
And  signed  his  title  there  to  Fame 
Without  one  solitary  fear 
About  its  being  proven  clear. 

One  has  its  pages  still  uncut, 

Clean,  kept  ironically  shut 

By  him  whose  name  therein  is  penned 

Above  :  From  his  devoted  Friend. 

But  not  infrequently  I  come 

Across  the  imprint  of  a  thumb, 

Or  in  the  paragraphs  I  find 

A  pleasing  sentence  underlined, 


LYRICS   FOR   A   LUTE 

Or  neatly  on  the  margin  set 
A  compliment  in  epithet : 
Each  one  of  these,  I  'm  satisfied, 
Was  read  before  its  author  died. 

And  there  is  one  among  them  all, 

Morocco-bound,  gilt-edged,  and  small, 

Filled  with  the  amatory  rhymes 

Of  ante-Tennysonian  times, 

Stiff  in  their  phraseology 

And  rather  rough  in  melody. 

'T  is  Dedicated  unto  Her 

By  Her  Unworthy  Worshipper. 

And  just  below  is  written,  "  These 

Many  and  pleasing  Melodies, 

Dear  Win.  writ  in  '98, 

&  tmto  Me  did  Dedicate" 

This  one  was  read  and  read  again, 

And  annotated  by  her  pen : 

And  this  fulfilled  the  Author's  hopes, 

Repaid  the  toil  of  all  his  tropes, 

And  had,  at  least  his  span  of  life, 

One  constant  reader  in  his  wife. 


TO  HIS  BOOKS 

GO,  little  book  with  heart  of  rhyme, 
This  is  our  last  leave-taking  time : 
For  you  the  journey  stretches  long, 
With  naught  to  cheer  you  save  a  song ; 
[  140! 


TO   HIS  BOOKS 

For  me,  alas  !  when  you  depart, 
A  doubtful,  desolated  heart. 
I  have  but  slender  hope  to  give 
To  gladden  such  a  fugitive. 
The  world  may  greet  you  well  or  ill, 
Seeing  your  way  lies  all  up  hill : 
But  o'er  that  summit  dim  and  far 
I  catch  a  glimpse  of  one  sure  star 
Which  shines  to  guide  you  and  to  bring 
You  ever  closer  there  to  sing. 
Little  I  care  for  praise  or  blame 
Unless  it  whispers  of  her  name : 
Her  praise  is  inspiration's  breath ; 
Her  scorn  were  aspiration's  death ! 
Go,  then,  and  if  she  welcome  you 
I  care  not  what  the  world  may  do ! 


LITTLE-FOLK   LYRICS 


LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS 

TO  THE  LITTLE  READERS 

\  T  7HEN  I  was  young,  and  long  before 
V  V  The  Muse  came  tapping  at  my  door, 
What  curious  things  I  used  to  dream ! 
How  very  true  they  all  did  seem ! 
And  when  I  went  to  bed  at  night 
I  begged  my  mother  to  recite 
The  Tales  of  Oiue-upon-a-Time, 
All  written  down  in  simple  rhyme. 
How  eagerly  I  listened,  and 
How  far  I  went  in  Fairy-land ! 
And  these  same  songs  she  sang  to  me 
Still  murmur  in  my  memory. 
For  me  she  made  the  world  anew,  — 
A  jewel  of  each  drop  of  dew ; 
The  autumn  leaves  of  golden  tint 
Were  coins  come  freshly  from  the  mint ; 
The  birds  were  poets  all,  who  sang ; 
The  flowers  were  bells  the  fairies  rang ; 
And  everything  I  saw  became 
Another,  with  another  name. 
So,  little  folk,  these  verses  from 
The  rosary  of  childhood  come 
[  145] 


LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS 

For  you  to  string  on  Fancy's  line, 
To  be  your  joy  as  they  were  mine,  — 
To  be  your  joy,  and  so  to  bless 
Your  hearts  with  song  and  happiness! 


BLOSSOMS 

OUT  of  my  window  I  could  see 
But  yesterday,  upon  the  tree, 
The  blossoms  white,  like  tufts  of  snow 
That  had  forgotten  when  to  go. 

And  while  I  looked  out  at  them,  they 
Seemed  like  small  butterflies  at  play, 
For  in  the  breeze  their  flutterings 
Made  me  imagine  them  with  wings. 

I  must  have  fancied  well,  for  now 
There  's  not  a  blossom  on  the  bough, 
And  out  of  doors  't  is  raining  fast, 
And  gusts  of  wind  are  whistling  past. 

With  butterflies  't  is  etiquette 
To  keep  their  wings  from  getting  wet, 
So,  when  they  knew  the  storm  was  near, 
They  thought  it  best  to  disappear. 


[  146] 


DAISIES 


ANEMONE 

A  SCULPTOR  is  the  Sun,  I  know, 
Whose  shining  marble  is  the  snow : 
All  through  the  winter,  day  by  day, 
He  with  his  golden  chisel-ray 
Toils  patiently  that  he  may  bring 
A  statue  forth  to  honor  Spring ; 
And  when  she  comes,  behold  it  there,  — 
A  blossom  in  the  gentle  air, — 
A  form  of  gracious  symmetry,  — 
A  fragile  white  anemone ! 


DAISIES 

AT  evening  when  I  go  to  bed 
I  see  the  stars  shine  overhead ; 
They  are  the  little  daisies  white 
That  dot  the  meadow  of  the  Night. 

And  often  while  I  'm  dreaming  so, 
Across  the  sky  the  Moon  will  go ; 
It  is  a  lady,  sweet  and  fair, 
Who  comes  to  gather  daisies  there. 

For,  when  at  morning  I  arise, 

There  's  not  a  star  left  in  the  skies ; 

She 's  picked  them  all  and  dropped  them  down 

Into  the  meadows  of  the  town. 

1 147] 


LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS 


SPRING'S  COMING 

THE  woodland  brooks  that  murmur  as  they  go 
In  silver  ripples  through  the  fringing  grass 
Are  harp-strings  touched  by  God  :  the  winds  that  blow 
Are  Spring's  gay  children,  singing  as  they  pass. 

And  where  the  sod  is  trodden  by  their  feet, 

The  Earth,  all  gladdened  by  youth's  warmer  blood, 

Puts  forth  her  fragile  urns  of  odors  sweet  — 
The  violet  and  fragrant  crocus  bud. 


GOLDEN-ROD 

SPRING  is  the  morning  of  the  year, 
And  summer  is  the  noontide  bright ; 
The  autumn  is  the  evening  clear 

That  comes  before  the  winter's  night. 

And  in  the  evening,  everywhere 
Along  the  roadside,  up  and  down, 

I  see  the  golden  torches  flare 

Like  lighted  street-lamps  in  the  town. 

I  think  the  butterfly  and  bee, 

From  distant  meadows  coming  back, 

Are  quite  contented  when  they  see 

These  lamps  along  the  homeward  track. 
[  148  ] 


JANUARY 

But  those  who  stay  too  late  get  lost; 

For  when  the  darkness  falls  about, 
Down  every  lighted  street  the  Frost 

Will  go  and  put  the  torches  out. 


JANUARY 

JANUARY,  bleak  and  drear, 
First  arrival  of  the  year, 
Named  for  Janus,  —  Janus  who, 
Fable  says,  has  faces  two ; 
Pray,  is  that  the  reason  why 
Yours  is  such  a  fickle  sky  ? 
First  you  smile,  and  to  us  bring 
Dreams  of  the  returning  spring ; 
Then,  without  a  sign,  you  frown, 
And  the  snowflakes  hurry  down, 
Making  all  the  landscape  white, 
Just  as  if  it  blanched  with  fright, 
You  obey  no  word  or  law ; 
Now  you  freeze,  and  then  you  thaw, 
Teasing  all  the  brooks  that  run 
With  the  hope  of  constant  sun, 
Chaining  all  their  feet  at  last 
Firm  in  icy  fetters  fast. 
Month  of  all  months  most  contrary, 
Sweet  and  bitter  January ! 


[  149  ] 


LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS 


FEBRUARY 

FEBRUARY,  —  fortnights  two,  — 
Briefest  of  the  months  are  you, 
Of  the  winter's  children  last. 
Why  do  you  go  by  so  fast  ? 
Is  it  not  a  little  strange 
Once  in  four  years  you  should  change, 
That  the  sun  should  shine  and  give 
You  another  day  to  live  ? 
May  be  this  is  only  done 
Since  you  are  the  smallest  one ; 
So  I  make  the  shortest  rhyme 
For  you,  as  befits  your  time : 
You  're  the  baby  of  the  year, 
And  to  me  you  're  very  dear, 
Just  because  you  bring  the  line, 
"  Will  you  be  my  Valentine?  " 

MARCH 

MARCH  !  and  all  the  winds  cry,  March 
As  they  sweep  the  heavens'  arch, 
Polishing  the  stars  that  gem 
Earth's  resplendent  diadem, 
Setting  all  the  waters  free 
From  the  winter's  chancery, 
Sending  down  an  avalanche 
From  the  tree's  snow-covered  branch. 

1 150] 


APRIL 

March  makes  clear  the  frosty  track 
That  the  birds  may  hasten  back 
On  their  northward  flight  and  bring 
Jocund  carols  for  the  Spring. 
March  is  merry,  March  is  mad, 
March  is  gay,  and  March  is  sad ; 
Every  humor  we  may  know 
If  we  list  the  winds  that  blow. 
Have  you  heard  the  bugle-call 
Gathering  the  soldiers  all  ? 
March  is  Spring's  own  trumpeter, 
Hailing  us  to  welcome  her. 


APRIL 

OUTDOORS  the  white  rain  coming  down 
Made  rivers  of  the  streets  in  town, 
And  where  the  snow  in  patches  lay 
It  washed  the  Winter's  signs  away. 
How  fast  it  fell !  How  warm  it  felt ! 
The  icicles  began  to  melt : 
A  silver  needle  seemed  each  one 
Thrust  in  the  furnace  of  the  Sun  — 
The  Vulcan  Sun  who  forged  them  all, 
In  raindrops,  crystals  round  and  small. 
The  air  was  filled  with  tiny  ropes 
On  which  were  strung  these  April  hopes,  — 
White  water-beads  that  searched  the  ground 
Until  the  thirsty  seeds  were  found. 
[  151  1 


LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS 

Then  came  blue  sky;  the  streets  were  clean, 

And  in  the  garden  spots  of  green 

Were  glistening  in  golden  light, — 

The  grass  —  and  Spring  —  almost  in  sight ! 

A  bluebird  sang  its  song  near  by ; 

Oh,  happy  Spring  is  come,  thought  I : 

When  all  at  once  the  air  grew  chill, 

Again  the  snow-flakes  fell  until 

The  ground  was  covered,  and  the  trees 

Stood  in  the  drifts  up  to  their  knees. 

I  think  this  bird  who  dared  to  sing 
Was  premature  about  the  Spring, 
Or  else  he  joked  in  manner  cool, 
And  caroled  lightly,  "April Fool!" 

MAY 

MAY  shall  make  the  world  anew ; 
Golden  sun  and  silver  dew, 
Money  minted  in  the  sky, 
Shall  the  earth's  new  garments  buy. 
May  shall  make  the  orchards  bloom  ; 
And  the  blossoms'  fine  perfume 
Shall  set  all  the  honey-bees 
Murmuring  among  the  trees. 
May  shall  make  the  bud  appear 
Like  a  jewel,  crystal  clear, 
'Mid  the  leaves  upon  the  limb 
Where  the  robin  lilts  his  hymn. 
[  152] 


JUNE 

May  shall  make  the  wild-flowers  tell 
Where  the  shining  snowflakes  fell, 
Just  as  though  each  snowflake's  heart, 
By  some  secret,  magic  art, 
Were  transmuted  to  a  flower 
In  the  sunlight  and  the  shower. 
Is  there  such  another,  pray, 
Wonder-making  month  as  May  ? 


JUNE 

OJUNE !  delicious  month  of  June, 
When  winds  and  birds  all  sing  in  tune ; 
When  in  the  meadows  swarm  the  bees 
And  hum  their  drowsy  melodies ; 
O  June !  the  month  of  bluest  skies, 
Dear  to  the  pilgrim  butterflies, 
Who  seem  gay-colored  leaves  astray, 
Blown  down  the  amber  tides  of  day ; 
O  June  !  the  month  of  merry  song, 
Of  shadow  brief,  of  sunshine  long ; 
All  things  on  earth  love  you  the  best,  — 
The  bird  who  carols  near  his  nest ; 
The  wind  that  wakes,  and,  singing,  blows 
The  spicy  perfume  of  the  rose ; 
And  bee,  who  sounds  his  muffled  horn 
To  celebrate  the  dewy  morn : 
And  even  all  the  stars  above 
At  night  are  happier  for  love, 
[  153  1 


LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS 

As  if  the  mellow  notes  of  mirth 
Were  wafted  to  them  from  the  earth. 
O  June !  such  music  haunts  your  name, 
With  you  the  summer's  chorus  came. 


JULY 

JULY,  for  you  the  songs  are  sung 
By  birds  the  leafy  trees  among ; 
With  merry  carolings  they  wake 
The  meadows  at  the  morning's  break, 
And  through  the  day  the  lisping  breeze 
Is  woven  with  their  tree-top  glees : 
For  you  the  prattling,  pebbly  brooks 
Are  full  of  tales  like  story-books : 
For  you  a  fragrant  incense  burns 
Within  the  garden's  blossom  urns, 
Which  tempts  the  bees  to  hasten  home 
With  honey  for  their  honeycomb. 
The  river,  like  a  looking-glass, 
Reflects  the  fleecy  clouds  that  pass, 
Until  it  makes  us  almost  doubt 
If  earth  and  sky  are  n't  changed  about. 
July,  for  you,  in  silence  deep, 
The  world  seems  fallen  fast  asleep, 
Save  on  one  glorious  holiday, 
When  all  our  books  we  put  away, 
And  every  little  maid  and  man 
Is  proud  to  be  American. 
[  i54l 


SEPTEMBER 


AUGUST 

AUGUST,  month  when  summer  lies 
Sleeping  under  sapphire  skies. 
Open  all  the  windows  wide, 
Drink  the  orchard's  fragrant  tide,  — 
Breath  of  grass  at  morning  mown 
Through  the  leafy  vistas  blown ; 
Hear  the  swishing  of  the  scythe, 
Sound  mellifluent  and  blithe  : 
August,  month  when  everywhere 
Music  floats  upon  the  air 
From  the  harp  of  minstrel  gales, 
Playing  down  the  hills  and  dales : 
August,  month  when  sleepy  cows 
Seek  the  shade  of  spreading  boughs, 
Where  the  birds  alight  to  sing 
And  the  fruit  hangs  ripening: 
August,  month  of  twilights,  when 
Day  half  goes,  and  comes  again ; 
August  days  are  guards  who  keep 
Watch  while  Summer  lies  asleep. 

SEPTEMBER 

HERE  'S  a  lyric  for  September, 
Best  of  all  months  to  remember ; 
Month  when  summer  breezes  tell 
What  has  happened  wood  and  dell, 
[  155  1 


LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS 

Of  the  joy  the  year  has  brought, 

And  the  changes  she  has  wrought. 

She  has  turned  the  verdure  red ; 

In  the  blue  sky  overhead, 

She  the  harvest  moon  has  hung, 

Like  a  silver  boat  among 

Shoals  of  stars,  —  bright  jewels  set 

In  the  earth's  blue  coronet ; 

She  has  brought  the  orchard's  fruit 

To  repay  the  robin's  flute 

Which  has  gladdened  half  the  year 

With  a  music,  liquid  clear ; 

And  she  makes  the  meadow  grass 

Catch  the  sunbeams  as  they  pass, 

Till  the  autumn's  floor  is  rolled 

With  a  fragrant  cloth  of  gold. 


OCTOBER 

OCTOBER  is  the  month  that  seems 
All  woven  with  midsummer  dreams ; 
She  brings  for  us  the  golden  days 
That  fill  the  air  with  smoky  haze ; 
She  brings  for  us  the  lisping  breeze, 
And  wakes  the  gossips  in  the  trees, 
Who  whisper  near  the  vacant  nest 
Forsaken  by  its  feathered  guest. 
Now  half  the  birds  forget  to  sing, 
And  half  of  them  have  taken  wing, 
[  156! 


NOVEMBER 

Before  their  pathway  shall  be  lost 
Beneath  the  gossamer  of  frost. 
Now  one  by  one  the  gay  leaves  fly 
Zigzag  across  the  yellow  sky  ; 
They  rustle  here  and  flutter  there ; 
Until  the  bough  hangs  chill  and  bare. 
What  joy  for  us  —  what  happiness 
Shall  cheer  the  day,  the  night  shall  bless  ? 
T  is  Hallowe'en,  the  very  last 
Shall  keep  for  us  remembrance  fast, 
When  every  child  shall  duck  the  head 
To  find  the  precious  pippin  red. 


NOVEMBER 

T  T  7HO  shall  sing  to  bleak  November, 

Y  V    Month  of  frost  and  glowing  ember  ? 
Is  there  nothing  then  to  praise 
In  these  thirty  chilly  days  ? 
Ah,  but  who  shall  lack  for  song 
When  the  nights  are  still  and  long ; 
When  beside  the  logwood  fire 
We  may  hear  the  wood-elves'  choir, 
Making  dainty  music  float 
Up  the  big,  brick  chimney's  throat ; 
When  within  the  flames  and  smoke 
We  may  see  the  fairy  folk, 
Coming  hither,  going  thither, 
Vanishing,  we  know  not  whither,  — 
[  157  1 


LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS 

Or,  perhaps  they  all  depart 
To  the  forest's  frozen  heart, 
There  to  tell  the  barren  trees 
Of  the  fireside's  mysteries,  — 
How  they  saw  some  other  elves 
Just  as  funny  as  themselves ! 

DECEMBER 

DECEMBER  'S  come,  and  with  her  brought 
A  world  in  whitest  marble  wrought ; 
The  trees  and  fence  and  all  the  posts 
Stand  motionless  and  white  as  ghosts, 
And  all  the  paths  we  used  to  know 
Are  hidden  in  the  drifts  of  snow. 
December  brings  the  longest  night, 
And  cheats  the  day  of  half  its  light. 
No  song-bird  breaks  the  perfect  hush ; 
No  meadow-brook  with  liquid  gush 
Runs  telling  tales  in  babbling  rhyme 
Of  liberty  and  summer  time, 
But  frozen  in  its  icy  cell 
Awaits  the  sun  to  break  the  spell. 
Breathe  once  upon  the  window  glass, 
And  see  the  mimic  mists  that  pass,  — 
Fantastic  shapes  that  go  and  come 
Forever  silvery  and  dumb. 

December  Santa  Claus  shall  bring,  — 
Of  happy  children  happy  king,  — 
[  158] 


KING  BELL 

Who  with  his  sleigh  and  reindeer  stops 
At  all  good  people's  chimney  tops. 

Then  let  the  holly  red  be  hung, 

And  all  the  sweetest  carols  sung, 

While  we  with  joy  remember  them  — 

The  journeyers  to  Bethlehem, 

Who  followed,  trusting  from  afar 

The  guidance  of  that  happy  star 

Which  marked  the  spot  where  Christ  was  born 

Long  years  ago,  one  Christmas  morn ! 


KING  BELL 

LONG  years  ago  there  lived  a  King, 
A  mighty  man  and  bold, 
Who  had  two  sons,  named  Dong  and  Ding, 
Of  whom  this  tale  is  told. 

Prince  Ding  was  clear  of  voice,  and  tall, 

A  Prince  in  every  line ; 
Prince  Dong,  his  voice  was  very  small, 

And  he  but  four  feet  nine. 


Now  both  these  sons  were  very  dear 
To  Bell,  the  mighty  King. 

They  always  hastened  to  appear 
When  he  for  them  would  ring. 
[  159  ] 


LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS 

Ding  never  failed  the  first  to  be, 
But  Dong,  he  followed  well, 

And  at  the  second  summons  he 
Responded  to  King  Bell. 

This  promptness  of  each  royal  Prince 

Is  all  of  them  we  know, 
Except  that  all  their  kindred  since 

Have  done  exactly  so. 

And  if  you  chance  to  know  a  King 

Like  this  one  of  the  song, 
Just  listen  once  —  and  there  is  Ding ; 

Again  —  and  there  is  Dong. 


IN  THE  MEADOW 

THE  meadow  is  a  battle-field 
Where  Summer's  army  comes, 
Each  soldier  with  a  clover  shield, 
The  honey-bees  with  drums. 

Boom,  rat-ta !  they  march,  and  pass 

The  captain  tree  who  stands 
Saluting  with  a  sword  of  grass 
And  giving  them  commands. 

T  is  only  when  the  breezes  blow 

Across  the  woody  hills, 
They  shoulder  arms,  and,  to  and  fro, 

March  in  their  full-dress  drills. 
[  160] 


FAIRY   JEWELS 

Boom,  rat-ta !  they  wheel  in  line 

And  wave  their  gleaming  spears ; 
"  Charge  !  "  cries  the  captain,  giving  sign, 
And  every  soldier  cheers. 

But  when  the  day  is  growing  dim 

They  gather  in  their  camps 
And  sing  a  good  thanksgiving  hymn 
Around  the  firefly  lamps. 
Rat-tat-ta !  the  bugle-notes 

Call  "good-night"  to  the  sky: 
I  hope  they  all  have  overcoats 
To  keep  them  warm  and  dry. 


FAIRY  JEWELS 

O  WHITE  moon  sailing  down  the  sky, 
I  watch  you  when  in  bed  I  lie ; 
I  watch  you  on  the  calm,  blue  deep, 
And  dream  of  you  when  fast  asleep. 
I  fancy  as  I  see  you  float 
That  you  are  some  good  fairy's  boat, 
And  winds  that  in  my  windows  blow 
Are  the  same  winds  that  make  you  go ; 
Each  star  that  shines  for  me  so  bright 
For  you  is  just  a  beacon  light. 
I  half  believe  that  it  is  you 
Who  bring  to  us  the  morning  dew,  — 


LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS 

Each  drop  is  so  much  like  a  gem/ 
I  think  the  fairy  gathers  them, 
And  leaning  over  as  you  pass 
Lets  millions  fall  upon  the  grass. 


THE  FOUR  WINDS 

IN  winter,  when  the  wind  I  hear 
I  know  the  clouds  will  disappear ; 
For  't  is  the  wind  who  sweeps  the  sky 
And  piles  the  snow  in  ridges  high. 

In  spring,  when  stirs  the  wind,  I  know 
That  soon  the  crocus  buds  will  show ; 
For  't  is  the  wind  who  bids  them  wake 
And  into  pretty  blossoms  break. 

In  summer  when  it  softly  blows, 
Soon  red  I  know  will  be  the  rose, 
For  't  is  the  wind  to  her  who  speaks, 
And  brings  the  blushes  to  her  cheeks. 

In  autumn,  when  the  wind  is  up, 
I  know  the  acorn  's  out  its  cup ;' 
For  't  is  the  wind  who  takes  it  out, 
And  plants  an  oak  somewhere  about. 


HUMMING-BIRD   SONG 


HUMMING-BIRD  SONG 

HUMMING-BIRD, 
Not  a  word 

Do  you  say ; 
Has  your  throat 
No  sweet  note 

To  repay 
Honest  debts 
It  begets 

When  you  go 
On  the  wing 
Pilfering 

To  and  fro  ? 

May  be  you 
Whisper  to 

Bloom  and  leaf 
On  the  vine 
Secrets  fine 

In  your  brief 
Calls  on  them, 
Winged  gem. 

Not  a  word 
You  reply ! 
Off  you  fly, 

Humming-bird ! 


[  163! 


LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS 


PEBBLES 

OUT  of  a  pellucid  brook 
Pebbles  round  and  smooth  I  took 
Like  a  jewel,  every  one 
Caught  a  color  from  the  sun,  — 
Ruby  red  and  sapphire  blue, 
Emerald  and  onyx  too, 
Diamond  and  amethyst,  — 
Not  a  precious  stone  I  missed : 
Gems  I  held  from  every  land 
In  the  hollow  of  my  hand. 
Workman  Water  these  had  made ; 
Patiently  through  sun  and  shade, 
With  the  ripples  of  the  rill 
He  had  polished  them  until, 
Smooth,  symmetrical  and  bright, 
Each  one  sparkling  in  the  light 
Showed  within  its  burning  heart 
All  the  lapidary's  art ; 
And  the  brook  seemed  thus  to  sing : 
Patience  conquers  everything  ! 

IN  THE  ORCHARD 

O  ROBIN  in  the  cherry-tree, 
I  hear  you  caroling  your  glee. 
The  platform  where  you  lightly  tread 
Is  lighted  up  with  cherries  red, 
I  164  1 


A  REAL   SANTA   CLAUS 

And  there  you  sing  among  the  boughs, 
Like  Patti  at  the  opera-house. 

Who  is  the  hero  in  your  play 
To  whom  you  sing  in  such  a  way  ? 
And  why  are  you  so  gayly  dressed, 
With  scarlet  ribbons  on  your  breast  ? 
And  is  your  lover  good  and  true  ? 
And  does  he  always  sing  to  you  ? 

Your  orchestra  are  winds  that  blow 
Their  blossom  notes  to  me  below, 
And  all  the  trembling  leaves  are  throngs 
Of  people  clapping  for  your  songs. 
I  wonder  if  you  like  it  when 
I  clap  for  you  to  sing  again. 


A  REAL  SANTA  CLAUS 

SANTA  CLAUS,  I  hang  for  you, 
By  the  mantel,  stockings  two : 
One  for  me  and  one  to  go 
To  another  boy  I  know. 

There's  a  chimney  in  the  town 
You  have  never  traveled  down. 
Should  you  chance  to  enter  there 
You  would  find  a  room  all  bare : 
Not  a  stocking  could  you  spy, 
Matters  not  how  you  might  try ; 


LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS 

And  the  shoes,  you  'd  find  are  such 
As  no  boy  would  care  for  much. 
In  a  broken  bed  you  'd  see 
Some  one  just  about  like  me, 
Dreaming  of  the  pretty  toys 
Which  you  bring  to  other  boys, 
And  to  him  a  Christmas  seems 
Merry  only  in  his  dreams. 

All  he  dreams  then,  Santa  Claus, 
Stuff  the  stocking  with,  because 
When  it 's  filled  up  to  the  brim 
I  '11  be  Santa  Claus  to  him  ! 


CHERRIES 

APRIL  brought  the  blossoms  out, 
May  winds  scattered  them  about, 
Till  the  grassy  floor  below 
Whitened  with  their  fragrant  snow ; 
Then  came  June  with  golden  sun, 
Of  all  months  the  fairest  one, 
Smiling  on  the  trees  and  brooks 
Like  a  child  with  picture-books. 

In  the  green  leaves  overhead 
Little  lights  were  burning  red ; 
Looking  up,  it  seemed  that  I 
Saw  the  stars  in  fairy  sky 
[  166] 


CHERRIES 

Glistening  the  leaves  among, 
Lanterns  by  the  pixies  hung ; 
But  I  heard  a  song-bird  pipe 
"  Cherry  ripe !  "  and  "  Cherry  ripe  t  " 

He  who  sings  of  cherries  best 
Wears  their  colors  on  his  breast ; 
He  their  poet  is,  and  he 
Makes  his  dwelling  in  their  tree. 
'T  is  not  strange  his  song  is  sweet ; 
Think  —  the  cherries  he  can  eat ! 
Busy  with  his  feathered  wits 
He  makes  bare  the  cherry  pits. 

Bring  the  basket,  little  maid ; 
Let  us  lend  Sir  Robin  aid. 
I  will  climb  among  the  boughs 
Where  he  has  his  tiny  house, 
And  if  I  can  find  him  there 
I  will  ask  him  please  to  spare 
Of  his  tempting  cherry  feast 
One  small  basketful  at  least. 

I  will  tell  him  how  in  spring 
When  you  first  had  heard  him  sing, 
All  upon  the  garden  ground 
You  the  bread-crumbs  threw  around 
Then,  if  he 's  the  bird  I  think, 
He  will  answer  in  a  wink, 
"  Certainly  :  I  'd  help  you  pick, 
If  their  stems  were  not  so  thick ! " 

1 1671 


LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS 


FLYING  KITE 

I  OFTEN  sit  and  wish  that  I 
Could  be  a  kite  up  in  the  sky, 
And  ride  upon  the  breeze,  and  go 
Whatever  way  it  chanced  to  blow. 
Then  I  could  look  beyond  the  town, 
And  see  the  river  winding  down, 
And  follow  all  the  ships  that  sail 
Like  me  before  the  merry  gale, 
Until  at  last  with  them  I  came 
To  some  place  with  a  foreign  name. 


KRISS  KRINGLE 

AWAY  with  melancholy ! 
This  day  is  for  delight ; 
When  mistletoe  and  holly 

In  wreaths  and  garlands  bright 
Are  hung  above  the  ingle, 
And  joyous  voices  mingle 
To  welcome  in  Kriss  Kringle, 
Who  comes  clad  all  in  white ! 

Green  spray  and  crimson  berry 
A  crown  for  him  shall  be ; 

Gay  catch  and  carol  merry 
Shall  fill  his  heart  with  glee, 
[  168  ] 


WIZARD   FROST 

Shall  match  his  sleigh-bells'  jingle 
And  warm  his  ears  a-tingle,  — 
A  greeting  to  Kriss  Kringle, 
The  Christmas  Fairy  he ! 

Within  his  sleigh  he  carries 

The  presents  high  up-piled  ; 
Not  long  with  us  he  tarries, 
By  leaf  and  song  beguiled. 
God-speed,  down  dale  and  dingle, 
May  there  not  be  a  single 
Forgotten  one,  Kriss  Kringle ; 
But  gifts  for  every  child ! 


WIZARD  FROST 

WONDROUS  things  have  come  to  pass 
On  my  square  of  window-glass. 
Looking  in  it  I  have  seen 
Grass  no  longer  painted  green, 
Trees  whose  branches  never  stir, 
Skies  without  a  cloud  to  blur, 
Birds  below  them  sailing  high, 
Church-spires  pointing  to  the  sky, 
And  a  funny  little  town 
Where  the  people,  up  and  down 
Streets  of  silver,  to  me  seem 
Like  the  people  in  a  dream, 
[  169] 


LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS 

Dressed  in  finest  kinds  of  lace : 
'T  is  a  picture,  on  a  space 
Scarcely  larger  than  the  hand, 
Of  a  tiny  Switzerland, 
Which  the  wizard  Frost  has  drawn 
'Twixt  the  nightfall  and  the  dawn. 
Quick !  and  see  what  he  has  done 
Ere  't  is  stolen  by  the  Sun. 


THE  JUGGLER 

FROM  these  downy  flakes  of  snow 
Winter  scatters  everywhere, 
Fragrant  violets  shall  grow 
In  the  springtime's  balmy  air. 

Every  snowdrop  on  the  numb 
Branches  of  the  barren  tree 

Shall  a  ruby  bud  become 

When  the  warm  sun  sets  it  free. 

And  the  icicles  that  shine 
Dagger-like  and  crystal-clear 

In  the  fingers  of  the  vine, 

Trembling  leaves  shall  then  appear. 

We  shall  know  when  comes  this  strange 
Juggler  April,  who  shall  bring 

Out  of  snow-drifts,  "  Presto,  change ! " 

Birds  and  blossoms  of  the  spring ! 

[  170] 


A   FAIRY  STORY 


A  FAIRY  STORY 

THIS  is  what  a  fairy  heard; 
Listening  beside  a  stream,  — 
Water  talking  in  its  dream. 
That  is  what  I  call  absurd. 

This  is  what  the  water  said : 

When  I  grow  up  big,  I  7/  be 
Like  the  river  or  the  sea. 
And  the  fairy  shook  her  head. 

Then  she  went  upon  her  way 

Far  across  the  hills  and  vales 
And  she  heard  so  many  tales 

She  forgot  the  dream  one  day. 

But,  at  last,  spread  out  to  view, 

Lay  the  ocean :  then,  once  more, 
She  heard  water  on  the  shore 

Whisper :  /  remember  you. 

Once  I  was  a  tiny  drop 

Dreaming  in  a  meadow-brook. 

T  was  little  then  ;  but  look,  — 
Now  I  've  grown  enough  to  stop  ! 


LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS 

THE  SHADOWS 

ALL  up  and  down  in  shadow-town 
The  shadow  children  go  ; 
In  every  street  you  're  sure  to  meet 
Them  running  to  and  fro. 

They  move  around  without  a  sound, 

They  play  at  hide-and-seek, 
But  no  one  yet  that  I  have  met 

Has  ever  heard  them  speak. 

Beneath  the  tree  you  often  see 

Them  dancing  in  and  out, 
And  in  the  sun  there 's  always  one 

To  follow  you  about. 

Go  where  you  will,  he  follows  still, 

Or  sometimes  runs  before, 
And,  home  at  last,  you  '11  find  him  fast 

Beside  you  at  the  door. 

A  faithful  friend  is  he  to  lend 

His  presence  everywhere ; 
Blow  out  the  light  —  to  bed  at  night  — 

Your  shadow-mate  is  there ! 

Then  he  will  call  the  shadows  all 

Into  your  room  to  leap, 
And  such  a  pack  !  they  make  it  black, 

And  fill  your  eyes  with  sleep ! 
[  172  ] 


HIDE-AND-SEEK 


HIDE-AND-SEEK 

NOW  hide  the  flowers  beneath  the  snow, 
And  Winter  shall  not  find  them ; 
Their  safety  nooks  he  cannot  know : 
They  left  no  tracks  behind  them. 

The  little  brooks  keep  very  still, 

Safe  in  their  ice-homes  lying; 
Let  Winter  seek  them  where  he  will, 

There 's  no  chance  for  his  spying. 

Gone  are  the  birds :  they  're  hiding  where 

The  Winter  never  searches ; 
Safe  in  the  balmy  Southern  air, 

They  sing  on  sunlit  perches. 

But  comes  the  Spring  at  last  to  look 

For  all  her  playmates  hidden, 
And  one  by  one  —  flower,  bird,  and  brook — 

Shall  from  its  place  be  bidden. 

Then  shall  the  world  be  glad  and  gay, 

The  birds  begin  their  chorus, 
The  brooks  sing,  too,  along  their  way, 

And  flowers  spring  up  before  us ! 


[173] 


LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS 

THE  ARCHER 

HIS  home  is  yonder  in  the  sky ; 
There,  when  the  chase  is  o'er, 
He  hangs  his  gorgeous  bow  on  high 
Above  the  open  door. 

And  sitting  down  he  looks  around 
The  green  fields  wide  and  far, 

Where  prostrate  lying  on  the  ground 
His  many  victims  are. 

Strong  is  his  arm,  he  knows  it  well, 

And  sure  his  steady  aim  ; 
For  him  the  missing  arrows  tell 

The  number  of  the  game. 

Come  out,  come  out !  the  hunt  is  done ; 

No  danger  shall  we  know ; 
For  yonder  see  beneath  the  sun 

His  promise  and  his  bow ! 

A  FUNNY  FELLOW 


is  a  funny  fellow 
JL      Who  goes  by  every  day : 
When  sad  his  voice  is  mellow, 
But  shrill  when  he  is  gay. 

Despite  of  my  endeavor 
To  see  him,  though  we 

r    _      .    i 


Ve  met 
[i74l 


SPINNING  TOP 

I  must  confess  I  never 

Have  seen  his  features  yet. 

I  know  he  pulls  the  thistles 
That  grow  along  the  lane, 

And  pricks  himself,  and  whistles 
To  drive  away  the  pain. 

And  when  the  snow  is  falling 

So  fast  I  may  not  see, 
I  often  hear  him  calling 

Across  the  fields  to  me. 

He  certainly  is  funny, 

For,  when  I  can  go  out, 
If  it  is  warm  and  sunny 

He  seldom  is  about. 

He  sings  to  me,  and  makes  me 

A  sleepy  child  at  night ; 
He  sings  again,  and  wakes  me, 

At  early  morning  bright. 

SPINNING  TOP 

\\  THEN  I  spin  round  without  a  stop 
VY    And  keep  my  balance  like  the  top, 
I  find  that  soon  the  floor  will  swim 
Before  my  eyes  ;  and  then,  like  him, 
I  lie  all  dizzy  on  the  floor 
Until  I  feel  like  spinning  more. 
[  i75l 


LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS 


SMILES  AND  TEARS 

I  SMILE,  and  then  the  Sun  comes  out; 
He  hides  away  whene'er  I  pout ; 
He  seems  a  very  funny  sun 
To  do  whatever  he  sees  done. 

And  when  it  rains  he  disappears ; 
Like  me,  he  can't  see  through  the  tears. 
Now  is  n't  that  the  reason  why 
I  ought  to  smile  and  never  cry  ? 

In  more  than  this  is  he  like  me ; 
For  every  evening  after  tea 
He  closes  up  his  eyelids  tight, 
And  opens  them  at  morning's  light. 


THE  CANARY 

UP  in  your  cage  of  gold, 
Singing  us  all  awake, 
What,  if  it  might  be  told, 

What  is  the  wish  you'd  make? 

Is  it,  "  I  'd  like  to  be 

Out  in  the  open  air, 
Out  of  this  cage,  and  free, 

Free  to  go  anywhere?  " 
[  176] 


CLOUDS 

You  're  such  a  happy  bird, 

Caroling  all  day  long, 
Nobody  ever  heard 

You  sing  a  solemn  song. 

So  I  have  come  to  think 

This  is  your  carol  sweet : 
"  Plenty  have  I  to  drink, 
Plenty  have  I  to  eat ; 

"  So  I  'm  content  to  stay 
,         Here  in  my  golden  ring, 
^     Nothing  to  do  all  day, 
Only  to  eat  and  sing." 

CLOUDS 

THE  sky  is  full  of  clouds  to-day, 
And  idly,  to  and  fro, 
Like  sheep  across  the  pasture,  they 

Across  the  heavens  go. 
I  hear  the  wind  with  merry  noise 

Around  the  housetops  sweep, 
And  dream  it  is  the  shepherd  boys, — 
They  're  driving  home  their  sheep. 

The  clouds  move  faster  now ;  and  see ! 

The  west  is  red  and  gold. 
Each  sheep  seems  hastening  to  be 

The  first  within  the  fold. 
[177  1 


LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS 

I  watch  them  hurry  on  until 
The  blue  is  clear  and  deep, 

And  dream  that  far  beyond  the  hill 
The  shepherds  fold  their  sheep. 

Then  in  the  sky  the  trembling  stars 

Like  little  flowers  shine  out, 
While  Night  puts  up  the  shadow  bars, 

And  darkness  falls  about. 
I  hear  the  shepherd  wind's  good-night  - 

"  Good-night,  and  happy  sleep  1 "  — 
And  dream  that  in  the  east,  all  white, 

Slumber  the  clouds,  the  sheep. 


LEAVES  AT  PLAY 

SCAMPER,  little  leaves,  about 
In  the  autumn  sun ; 
I  can  hear  the  old  Wind  shout, 

Laughing  as  you  run, 
And  I  have  n't  any  doubt 
That  he  likes  the  fun. 

When  you  've  run  a  month  or  so, 
Very  tired  you  '11  get ; 

But  the  same  old  Wind,  I  know, 
Will  be  laughing  yet 

When  he  tucks  you  in  your  snow- 
Downy  coverlet. 
I  178  1 


SHADOW  PICTURES 

So,  run  on  and  have  your  play, 
Romp  with  all  your  might ; 

Dance  across  the  autumn  day, 
While  the  sun  is  bright. 

Soon  you  '11  hear  the  old  Wind  say, 
"  Little  leaves,  Good-night !  " 


SHADOW  PICTURES 

IN  the  day  or  night, 
When  the  lamps  are  bright, 
Far  up  in  the  sky's  blue  dome, 
Every  kind  of  tree 
Is  a  child  like  me, 

Amusing  himself  at  home. 

On  the  ground  below 
In  the  brilliant  glow 

Of  stars,  or  of  moon  or  sun, 
There  the  shadows  fall 
On  the  grassy  wall, 

And  over  the  garden  run. 

There  are  cats  and  kings, 
There  are  birds  with  wings, 

And  curious  kinds  of  men ; 
And  they  dance  and  play 
In  a  funny  way, 

And  vanish,  and  come  again. 
[  179  1 


LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS 

Oh,  I  wish  I  knew 
How  their  fingers  do 

Such  tricks  with  the  shadows  dark ; 
Then  I  'd  make  the  birds 
And  the  leasts  in  herds, 

To  go  in  a  shadow  ark. 

And  the  flood  should  come, 
As  it  once  did,  from 

The  lamp  on  the  parlor  shelf ; 
And  my  shadow  boat 
On  the  wall  should  float, 

And  Noah  should  be  myself. 


GHOST  FAIRIES 

WHEN  the  open  fire  is  lit, 
In  the  evening  after  tea, 
Then  I  like  to  come  and  sit 
Where  the  fire  can  talk  to  me. 

Fairy  stories  it  can  tell, 

Tales  of  a  forgotten  race,  — 

Of  the  fairy  ghosts  that  dwell 
In  the  ancient  chimney  place. 

They  are  quite  the  strangest  folk 

Anybody  ever  knew, 
Shapes  of  shadow  and  of  smoke 

Living  in  the  chimney  flue. 
[  180  ] 


SONG   FOR   WINTER 

"  Once,"  the  fire  said,  "  long  ago, 

With  the  wind  they  used  to  rove, 
Gipsy  fairies,  to  and  fro, 

Camping  in  the  field  and  grove. 

"  Hither  with  the  trees  they  came, 
Hidden  in  the  logs;  and  here, 
Hovering  above  the  flame, 
Often  some  of  them  appear." 

So  I  watch,  and,  sure  enough, 
I  can  see  the  fairies !    Then, 

Suddenly  there  comes  a  puff  — 
Whish !  —  and  they  are  gone  again 


SONG  FOR  WINTER 

NOW  winter  fills  the  world  with  snow, 
Wild  winds  across  the  country  blow, 
And  all  the  trees,  with  branches  bare, 
Like  beggars  shiver  in  the  air. 
Oh,  now  hurrah  for  sleds  and  skates ! 
A  polar  expedition  waits 
When  school  is  done  each  day  for  me  — 
Off  for  the  ice-bound  arctic  sea. 

The  ice  is  strong  upon  the  creek, 
The  wind  has  roses  for  the  cheek, 
The  snow  is  knee-deep  all  around, 
And  earth  with  clear  blue  sky  is  crowned. 
[  181  ] 


LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS 

Then  come,  and  we  may  find  the  hut 
Wherein  the  Esquimau  is  shut, 
Or  see  the  polar  bear  whose  fur 
Makes  fun  of  the  thermometer. 

Let  us  who  want  our  muscles  tough 

orsake  the  tippet  and  the  muff. 
The  keen  fresh  wind  will  do  no  harm, 
The  leaping  blood  shall  keep  us  warm, 
A  spin  upon  our  arctic  main 
Shall  drive  the  clouds  from  out  the  brain, 
And  for  our  studies  we  at  night 
Shall  have  a  better  appetite. 


A  DEWDROP 

LITTLE  drop  of  dew, 
Like  a  gem  you  are ; 
I  believe  that  you 

Must  have  been  a  star. 

When  the  day  is  bright, 
On  the  grass  you  lie ; 

Tell  me  then,  at  night 
Are  you  in  the  sky  ? 


[  182  ] 


JESTER  BEE 

JESTER  BEE 

THE  garden  is  a  royal  court 
Whose  jester  is  the  bee, 
And  with  his  wit  and  merry  sport 
He  fills  the  place  with  glee. 

He  sings  love  ditties  to  the  Rose 
Who  is  the  queen  of  all ; 

To  princess  Lily  up  he  goes 
And  whispers  she  is  tall ; 

He  pulls  prince  Pansy  by  the  ear ; 

He  does  all  sorts  of  things 
That  are  ridiculous  and  queer — 

But  all  the  while  he  sings. 

He  does  not  seem  to  think  it  wrong 

Such  liberties  to  take  ; 
And  they  who  love  his  happy  song 

Forgive  him  for  its  sake. 

And  when  at  last  the  royal  clown 
Takes  off  his  jester's  mask, 

He  seriously  sits  him  down 
Before  his  honey  task. 

Then  to  himself  he  sings  away, 

And  here  's  the  burden  true  : 

"  Oh,  sweet  are  all  my  hours  of  play, 

And  sweet  my  honey,  too !  " 

[  183  1 


LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS 


SNOWFLAKES 

OUT  of  the  sky  they  come 
Wandering  down  the  air,  - 
Some  to  the  roofs  and  some 
Whiten  the  branches  bare ; 

Some  in  the  empty  nest, 
Some  on  the  ground  below, 

Until  the  world  is  dressed 
All  in  a  gown  of  snow. 

Dressed  in  a  fleecy  gown 
Out  of  the  snowflakes  spun  ; 

Wearing  a  golden  crown,  — 
Over  her  head  the  sun 

Out  of  the  sky  again 

Ghosts  of  the  flowers  that  died 
Visit  the  earth,  and  then 

Under  the  white  drifts  hide. 


DREAMS 

\  1  7"HO  can  tell  us  whence  they  come, 

V  V  What  mysterious  region  from  ?  , 
In  what  fairy  country  lies 
That  strange  city  of  surprise, 
[  184  1 


DREAMS 

Whither  we  in  slumber  go 
By  a  path  we  do  not  know  ? 
Is  it  near  or  far  away  ? 
And  the  people,  who  are  they  ? 

Once  when  I  was  there,  the  town 
Seemed  entirely  upside  down  :  1 
Roofs  of  barns  and  houses  stood 
Where  the  stone  foundations  should, 
And  the  streets  all  seemed  to  run 
Straight  as  arrows  to  the  sun 
Where,  like  ribbons,  they  were  wound 
Its  great,  golden  spool  around. 

All  the  men  and  horses  there, 
Topsy-turvy  in  the  air, 
Walked  and  trotted  on  the  blue 
Pavements  of  the  avenue. 
But  at  morning  when  I  woke, 
I  discovered  't  was  a  joke, 
For  the  first  thing  I  found  out 
Was  that  I  had  turned  about. 

How  to  go  there,  who  can  tell, 
Where  these  fairy  people  dwell  ? 
Strange  it  is  that  morning's  light 
Cannot  show  the  path  of  night ; 
Stranger  yet  that  we  can  keep 
It  so  surely  in  our  sleep ; 
But  the  very  strangest  seems 
Being  wide-awake  in  dreams. 
[  185  1 


LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS 

MAY-CHILDREN 

CAPTIVES  to  winter's  cruel  king, 
In  gloomy  dungeons  cast 
The  merry  children  of  the  spring 
Lay  bound  in  fetters  fast. 

They  heard  the  wind,  their  surly  guard, 

His  angry  summons  roar, 
And  trembled  when  the  sleet  fell  hard 

Against  their  prison  door. 

The  wild  flower  whispered  to  the  grass, 
"  What  hope  have  we  to  live  ?  " 

But  answer  none  made  he.  Alas  1 
He  had  no  hope  to  give. 

So  in  the  darkness  sad  they  wept, 

Nor  any  comfort  won, 
Save  when  into  their  sleep  there  crept 

Dreams  of  the  gentle  sun. 

But  once  while  they  were  dreaming  so, 

Came  April's  soldier  rains, 
Who  burst  their  prison  bars  of  snow, 

And  freed  them  of  their  chains. 

Then  forth  they  went  into  the  world, 
Spring's  children  bright  and  gay, 

And  to  the  fragrant  breeze  unfurled 
Their  banner  blooms  of  May. 
[  186] 


SOLDIERS  OF   THE   SUN 

ROBIN'S  APOLOGY 

ONE  morning  in  the  garden 
I  heard  the  robin's  song : 
"  I  really  beg  your  pardon 
For  tarrying  so  long ; 

"  And  this  is  just  the  reason,  — 

Whatever  way  I  flew, 
I  met  a  backward  season, 

Which  kept  me  backward  too." 


SOLDIERS  OF  THE  SUN 

ALONG  the  margin  of  the  world 
They  march  with  their  bright  banners 

furled, 

Until,  in  line  of  battle  drawn, 
They  reach  the  boundaries  of  dawn. 
They  cross  the  seas  and  rivers  deep, 
They  climb  the  mountains  high  and  steep, 
And  hurry  on  until  in  sight 
Of  their  black  enemy,  the  Night ; 
Then  madly  rush  into  the  fray 
The  armies  of  the  Night  and  Day. 
Swiftly  the  shining  arrows  go ; 
The  bugling  winds  their  warnings  blow. 
Strive  as  he  will,  the  Night  is  pressed 
Farther  and  farther  down  the  west. 
[  187  ] 


LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS 

With  golden  spear  and  gleaming  lance 
The  cohorts  of  the  Day  advance, 
Until  the  victory  is  won 
By  his  brave  Soldiers  of  the  Sun. 


SNOW  SONG 

OVER  valley,  over  hill, 
Hark,  the  shepherd  piping  shrill ! 
Driving  all  the  white  flocks  forth 
From  the  far  folds  of  the  North. 
Blow,  Wind,  blow ; 

Weird  melodies  you  play, 

Following  your  flocks  that  go 

Across  the  world  to-day. 

How  they  hurry,  how  they  crowd 
When  they  hear  the  music  loud  I 
Grove  and  lane  and  meadow  full 
Sparkle  with  their  shining  wool. 
Blow,  Wind,  blow 

Until  the  forests  ring: 
Teach  the  eaves  the  tunes  you  know, 
And  make  the  chimney  sing! 

Hither,  thither,  up  and  down 
Every  highway  of  the  town, 
Huddling  close,  the  white  flocks  all 
Gather  at  the  shepherd's  call. 
[  188  ] 


THE   RAIN-HARP 

Blow,  Wind,  blow 

Upon  your  pipes  of  joy  ; 
All  your  sheep  the  flakes  of  snow 

And  you  their  shepherd  boy ! 


THE  RAIN-HARP 

WHEN  out-of-doors  is  full  of  rain, 
I  look  out  through  the  window-pane 
And  see  the  branches  of  the  trees 
Like  people  dancing  to  the  breeze. 

They  bow  politely,  cross,  and  meet, 
Salute  their  partners,  and  retreat, 
And  never  stop  to  rest  until 
They  reach  the  end  of  the  quadrille. 

I  listen,  and  I  hear  the  sound 

Of  music  floating  all  around, 

And  fancy  't  is  the  Breeze  who  plays 

Upon  his  harp  on  stormy  days. 

The  strings  are  made  of  rain,  and  when 
The  branches  wish  to  dance  again, 
They  whisper  to  the  Breeze,  and  he 
Begins  another  melody. 

I  Ve  heard  him  play  the  pretty  things 
Upon  those  slender,  shining  strings ; 
And  when  he  's  done  —  he  's  very  sharp  — 
He  always  hides  away  the  harp. 
[  189  1 


LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS 

ELFIN  LAMPS 

WHY  all  the  stars  in  the  sky  are  so  bright, 
I  am  sure  no  one  knows  but  themselves  up 

there. 

Are  they  the  lamps  which  are  hung  out  at  night 
For  the  fays  and  the  gnomes  and  the  elves  up  there  ? 

BIRDS'  MUSIC 

THE  little  leaves  upon  the  trees 
Are  written  o'er  with  notes  and  words, 
The  pretty  madrigals  and  glees 
Sung  by  the  merry  minstrel  birds. 

Their  teacher  is  the  Wind,  I  know ; 

For  while  they  're  busy  at  their  song, 
He  turns  the  music  quickly  so 

The  tune  may  smoothly  move  along. 

So  all  through  summer-time  they  sing, 
And  make  the  woods  and  meadows  sweet, 

And  teach  the  brooks,  soft  murmuring, 
Their  dainty  carols  to  repeat. 

And  when,  at  last,  their  lessons  done, 
The  winter  brings  a  frosty  day, 

Their  teacher  takes  them,  one  by  one, 
Their  music,  too,  and  goes  away. 
[  190  ] 


SHADOW  CHILDREN 


SHADOW  CHILDREN 

"¥  T  THEN  the  sun  shines,  then  I  see 

VV  Shadows  underneath  the  tree 
Gliding  merrily  around, 

Never  making  any  sound, 
Playing  at  their  games,  no  doubt,  — 
Games  I  do  not  know  about. 

All  day  long  together  so 
Lightly  o'er  the  ground  they  go, 
Meet  and  separate  and  meet, 
Scamper  down  the  shadow  street, 
For  an  instant  here,  and  then 
Just  as  quickly  gone  again. 

When  with  clouds  the  skies  are  gray, 
In  their  house  the  shadows  stay, 
With  their  picture-books  and  toys, 
Like  all  other  girls  and  boys ; 
But  as  soon  as  shines  the  sun 
Out  of  doors  they  gladly  run. 

So  for  hours  they  play,  until 
Sinks  the  sun  behind  the  hill ; 
Then,  like  me,  they  go  to  bed, 
In  the  tree-house  overhead, 
And  the  winds  their  cradles  swing 
To  the  lullabies  they  sing. 
[191  1 


LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS 


FAIRY  SHIPWRECK 

ONE  morning  when  the  rain  was  done, 
And  all  the  trees  adrip, 
I  found,  all  shining  in  the  sun, 
A  storm-wrecked  fairy  ship. 

Its  hull  was  fashioned  of  a  leaf, 

A  tiny  twig  its  mast, 
And  high  upon  a  green-branch  reef 

By  winds  it  had  been  cast. 

A  spider's  web,  the  fragile  sail, 

Now  flying  loose  and  torn, 
Once  spread  itself  to  catch  the  gale 

By  which  the  ship  was  borne. 

Its  voyages  at  last  were  o'er, 

And  gone  were  all  the  crew ; 
And  did  they  safely  get  ashore  ? 

Alas,  I  wish  I  knew! 


BEES 

BEES  don't  care  about  the  snow ; 
I  can  tell  you  why  that 's  so : 

Once  I  caught  a  little  bee 
Who  was  much  too  warm  for  me  I 
[  192  ] 


LULLABY 


THE  WATERFALL 

TINKLE,  tinkle ! 
Listen  well  1 
Like  a  fairy  silver  bell 
In  the  distance  ringing, 
Lightly  swinging 
In  the  air ; 

T  is  the  water  in  the  dell 
Where  the  elfin  minstrels  dwell, 
Falling  in  a  rainbow  sprinkle, 
Dropping  stars  that  brightly  twinkle 
Bright  and  fair, 
On  the  darkling  pool  below, 
Making  music  so ; 
'T  is  the  water  elves  who  play 
On  their  lutes  of  spray. 
Tinkle,  tinkle  ! 
Like  a  fairy  silver  bell ; 
Like  a  pebble  in  a  shell ; 
Tinkle,  tinkle  ! 
Listen  well ! 

LULLABY 

SLUMBER,  slumber,  little  one,  now 
The  bird  is  asleep  in  his  nest  on  the  bough  ; 
The  bird  is  asleep,  he  has  folded  his  wings, 
And  over  him  softly  the  dream-fairy  sings : 
[  193] 


LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS 

Lullaby,  lullaby  —  lullaby ! 
Pearls  in  the  deep  — 

Stars  in  the  sky, 
Dreams  in  our  sleep ; 
So  lullaby ! 

Slumber,  slumber,  little  one,  soon 
The  fairy  will  come  in  the  ship  of  the  moon  : 
The  fairy  will  come  with  the  pearls  and  the  stars, 
And  dreams  will  come  singing  through  shadowy  bars 
Lullaby,  lullaby  — lullaby ! 
Pearls  in  the  deep  — 

Stars  in  the  sky, 
Dreams  in  our  sleep ; 
So  lullaby  ! 

Slumber,  slumber,  little  one,  so; 
The  stars  are  the  pearls  that  the  dream-fairies  know, 
The  stars  are  the  pearls,  and  the  bird  in  the  nest, 
A  dear  little  fellow  the  fairies  love  best : 
Lullaby,  lullaby  —  lullaby  I 
Pearls  in  the  deep  — 

Stars  in  the  sky, 
Dreams  in  our  sleep ; 
So  lullaby  ! 


B 


WINTER'S  ACROBATS 

Y  night  he  spread  his  white  rugs  down 
Upon  the  highways  of  the  town ; 
[  194  1 


WINTER'S   ACROBATS 

His  posters  on  the  fences  told 
Of  games  and  pleasures  manifold, 

And  promised  every  girl  and  boy 
A  day  of  undivided  joy, 

Of  merry  sport  and  healthy  fun, 
In  case  there  were  not  any  sun. 

The  gray  sky  was  his  spacious  tent, 
And  nearly  all  the  children  went. 

Some  took  their  sleds,  some  took  their  skates, 
Some  took  themselves,  and  some  their  mates. 

Then  all  day  long,  on  pond  and  hill, 
They  slid  and  coasted  with  a  will, 

And  built  snow  images  and  forts, 
And  played  at  all  their  jolly  sports. 

And  when  at  last  't  was  time  to  end 
The  happy  games  and  homeward  wend, 

They  cried,  while  tossing  high  their  hats, 
"  Three  cheers  for  Winter's  Acrobats  1 " 


[i95l 


LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS 

VACATION  SONG 

WHEN  study  and  school  are  over, 
How  jolly  it  is  to  be  free, 
Away  in  the  fields  of  clover, 

The  honey-sweet  haunts  of  the  bee! 

Away  in  the  woods  to  ramble, 
Where,  merrily  all  day  long, 

The  birds  in  the  bush  and  bramble 
Are  filling  the  summer  with  song. 

Away  in  the  dewy  valley 

To  follow  the  murmuring  brook, 
Or  sit  on  its  bank  and  dally 

Awhile  with  a  line  and  a  hook. 

Away  from  the  stir  and  bustle, 
The  noise  of  the  town  left  behind: 

Vacation  for  sport  and  muscle, 
The  winter  for  study  and  mind. 

There 's  never  a  need  to  worry, 
There  's  never  a  lesson  to  learn, 

There  's  never  a  bell  to  hurry, 
There  's  never  a  duty  to  spurn. 

So  play  till  the  face  grows  ruddy 
And  muscles  grow  bigger,  and  then 

Go  back  to  the  books  and  study ; 
We  '11  find  it  as  pleasant  again. 

1 196] 


THE   FAIRIES'   DANCE 

THE  SNOW-BIRD 

WHEN  all  the  ground  with  snow  is  white, 
The  merry  snow-bird  comes, 
And  hops  about  with  great  delight 
To  find  the  scattered  crumbs. 

How  glad  he  seems  to  get  to  eat 

A  piece  of  cake  or  bread ! 
He  wears  no  shoes  upon  his  feet, 

Nor  hat  upon  his  head. 

But  happiest  is  he,  I  know, 

Because  no  cage  with  bars 
Keeps  him  from  walking  on  the  snow 

And  printing  it  with  stars. 


THE  FAIRIES'  DANCE 

ONCE  in  the  morning  when  the  breeze 
Set  all  the  leaves  astir, 
And  music  floated  from  the  trees 

As  from  a  dulcimer, 
I  saw  the  roses,  one  by  one, 
Bow  gracefully,  as  though 
A  fairy  dance  were  just  begun 
Upon  the  ground  below. 

The  lilies  white,  beside  the  walk, 
Like  ladies  fair  and  tall, 
[  197  1 


LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS 

Together  joined  in  whispered  talk 

About  the  fairies'  ball ; 
The  slender  grasses  waved  along 

The  garden  path,  and  I 
Could  almost  hear  the  fairies'  song 

When  blew  the  light  wind  by. 

I  waited  there  till  noon  to  hear 

The  elfin  music  sweet ; 
I  saw  the  servant  bees  appear 

In  golden  jackets  neat ; 
And  though  I  wished  just  once  to  see 

The  happy  little  elves, 
They  were  so  much  afraid  of  me 

They  never  showed  themselves ! 


THE  ROSE'S  CUP 

DOWN  in  a  garden  olden,  — 
Just  where,  I  do  not  know, 
A  buttercup  all  golden 

Chanced  near  a  rose  to  grow ; 
And  every  morning  early, 

Before  the  birds  were  up, 
A  tiny  dewdrop  pearly 
Fell  in  this  little  cup. 

This  was  the  drink  of  water 
The  rose  had  every  day ; 
[  198  ] 


THE  SNOW-WEAVER 

But  no  one  yet  has  caught  her 
While  drinking  in  this  way. 

Surely,  it  is  no  treason 
To  say  she  drinks  so  yet, 

For  that  may  be  the  reason 
Her  lips  with  dew  are  wet. 


THE  SNOW-WEAVER 

BACK  and  forth  the  shuttles  go 
Fashioning  the  cloth  of  snow, 
And  the  weaver  you  may  hear 
At  the  wind-loom  singing  clear : 

"  Slumber,  little  flowers,  and  dream 
Of  the  silver-throated  stream, 
Shining  through  the  April  day 
As  it  were  a  music  ray 
Bearing  melody  along 
From  the  mellow  sun  of  song. 
Slumber,  little  fragrant  faces, 
Dreaming  in  your  quiet  places ; 
Soon  the  dreams  shall  pass  —  and  then 
You  and  Spring  shall  wake  again !  " 

Thus  the  weaver  at  his  loom 
Sings  away  the  winter's  gloom, 
While  he  weaves  the  coverlet 
For  the  dreamers  who  forget : 
[  199  1 


LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS 

"  Slumber,  little  flowers,  and  dream 
Of  the  April's  golden  beam 
Which  shall  come  and  fill  your  eyes 
With  the  sunlight  of  surprise ; 
Waking,  you  shall  hear  once  more 
Song-birds  at  the  daybreak's  door. 
Slumber,  little  fragrant  faces, 
Dreaming  in  your  quiet  places. 
Soon  the  dreams  shall  pass  —  and  then 
You  and  Spring  shall  wake  again !  " 


THE  STORY-TELLER 

LHEY  gather  round  him,  one  and  all, 
A  group  of  happy  children  small ; 

Their  mouths  are  open  wide ;  their  eyes 
Seem  almost  twice  their  normal  size ; 

Some  stand,  some  sit,  and  not  a  word 
From  any  one  of  them  is  heard. 

Now  all  is  ready  quite,  for  now 
The  story-teller  rubs  his  brow, 

And  questions  them :  "What  shall  it  be  ? 
A  fairy-tale  from  memory  ? 

"  Or  shall  I  tell  it  in  a  song, 
And  make  up  as  I  go  along  ? 
[  200  ] 


THE   STORY-TELLER 

"  Which  shall  it  be,  in  prose  or  rhyme, 
This  tale  of  once  upon  a  time  ? 

"Or  will  you  have  a  story  true  ? 
Choose  anything  that  pleases  you." 

A  busy  hum  goes  round,  and  then 
The  voices  quickly  hush  again ; 

For  this  small  audience  knows  well 
That  any  story  he  may  tell, 

Or  any  song  that  he  may  sing, 
Will  be  a  most  delightful  thing. 

"We  '11  let  you  choose,"  they  cry,  and  so 
He  tells  a  tale  of  long  ago. 

There  's  something  told  about  a  gem 
Set  in  a  Sultan's  diadem, 

Which  shone  in  such  a  brilliant  way 
It  changed  the  darkness  into  day. 

And  there  's  a  robber  and  a  lot 
Of  other  people  in  the  plot,  — 

A  prince,  a  princess,  and  a  page, 
A  parrot  in  a  golden  cage. 
[201  ] 


LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS 

And  there 's  the  palace  court-yard  where 
The  Sultan  walks  when  it  is  fair ; 

And  there  's  a  funny  dwarf  he  had 
To  cheer  him  up  when  he  was  sad. 

Of  course  the  robber  comes  to  grief; 
The  gem  was  in  his  handkerchief : 

The  parrot 't  is  who  picked  it  up 
And  dropped  it  in  his  water  cup ; 

And  then  the  prince  the  parrot  bought, 
And  found  the  gem  the  Sultan  sought. 

So  runs  for  one  long  hour  the  tale, 
And  finds  the  robber  safe  in  jail. 

The  parrot  has  become  quite  tame, 
And  calls  the  princess  by  her  name ; 

The  page  has  had  his  pay  increased, 
Which  he  deserved,  to  say  the  least; 

The  dwarf  —  the  Sultan's  merry  dwarf  — 
Has  been  presented  with  a  scarf, 

Whose  colors  made  the  Sultan  vext, 
And  that 's 

Continued  in  the  next. 

[202] 


THE  RAINBOW 


THE  RAINBOW 

A'TER  the  rain  goes  by, 
Curving  across  the  sky 
Behold  the  bow  of  light,  — 
God's  promise  shining  bright ! 
Under  this  glowing  arch 
The  myriad  mist-folk  march, 
And  yonder  —  lo,  the  Sun  ! 
Glistens  the  grass  once  more, 
The  birds  sing  at  the  door, 
Blue  the  sky  as  before, 
And  the  rain  is  done ! 

Slowly  the  meadow  mist 

Melts  into  amethyst ; 

Slowly  the  rainbow  fair 

Fades  in  the  amber  air ; 

Wakes  in  the  west  a  breeze 

Whispering  through  the  trees 

The  secrets  of  the  Sun. 

Gleams  like  a  gem  the  rose, 
Open  its  red  door  blows, 
Thither  the  glad  bee  goes,  — 
And  the  rain  is  done ! 


[203] 


LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS 


THE   STORY  OF  OMAR 

LONG  centuries  ago,  three  Persian  boys, 
Thinking  upon  their  hopes  of  future  joys, 
Between  them — Omar,  Abdul,  and  Hassan  — 
A  lasting  compact  made,  and  thus  it  ran : 

Abdul  and  Omar  and  Hassan.  These  three, 
School-mates  and  friends -,  do  solemnly  agree 
That  to  whichever  one  success  may  come,  — 
Honor  or  Wealth,  —  the  hand  of  Allah  fromt 
This  one  to  each  companion  dear  shall  make 
Some  worthy  offering  for  Friendship's  sake. 

The  years  slipped  by,  and  when  good  fortune  came, 
It  brought  to  Abdul  honor,  wealth,  and  fame : 
Vizier  the  Sultan  made  him,  and  't  was  then 
He  thought  of  Omar  and  Hassan  again. 
And  they,  't  is  said,  remembering  the  old 
Agreement,  came,  their  wishes  to  unfold. 

First  spoke  Hassan :  "  Of  thee,  O  Friend,  my  heart 

Would  crave  of  power  to  have  some  goodly  part !  " 

But  Omar  said  to  Abdul :  "  It  were  well 

With  me,  O  Friend,  if  I  might  ever  dwell 

Within  the  shadow  of  thy  happiness, 

And  from  Life's  grape  the  wine  of  Wisdom  press  !  " 

To  each  was  granted  that  for  which  he  prayed  ; 
The  vow  fulfilled,  the  promised  debt  was  paid. 
I  204  ] 


THE   CHRISTMAS   CAT 

But  soon  Hassan,  grown  greedier,  forgot 
His  love  for  Abdul,  and  began  to  plot 
Against  the  Sultan  and  the  kind  Vizier 
Whose  hand  had  helped  him  to  his  high  career ; 
And  at  his  bidding  did  a  rascal's  knife 
Undo  the  thread  of  gracious  Abdul's  life. 

Now  Omar,  he  in  peace  and  comfort  sought 
Wisdom,  —  a  school-boy  still,  by  Allah  taught ; 
Studied  the  course  of  planet  and  of  star, 
And  for  his  Sultan  made  the  Calendar ; 
But  most  he  loved,  at  the  propitious  time, 
His  gathered  wisdom  to  record  in  rhyme. 

To-day,  of  all  these  three  't  is  he  alone 
Whose  name  is  honored  and  whose  work  is  known. 
Modest  he  was,  and  being  modest,  wise ! 
Therein  the  moral  of  his  story  lies. 


THE   CHRISTMAS   CAT 

IT  was  the  middle  of  the  night 
When  Santa  Claus,  clad  all  in  white, 
Without  a  sign  of  any  noise 
Came  down  the  chimney  with  his  toys. 
A  host  of  pretty  gifts  he  had 
To  make  a  little  fellow  glad  — 
Playthings  of  every  kind  and  make 
To  please  him  when  he  should  awake. 
[205  1 


LITTLE-FOLK   LYRICS 

Among  them,  and  the  last  of  all, 
A  woolly  kitten,  fat  and  small, 
He  placed  upon  the  moonlit  floor 
Close  by  the  chamber's  open  door. 
Then  up  the  chimney  quick  he  sped 
And  jumped  into  his  snowy  sled, 
And  hurried  back  with  jingling  bells 
Unto  the  kingdom  where  he  dwells. 

No  sooner  had  he  gone  away 
When  in  came  Mouser,  grave  and  gray, 
A  sort  of  cat-folk  Santa  Claws, 
Soft  stepping  on  his  velvet  paws. 
And  there  before  his  very  eyes 
The  woolly  kitten,  half  his  size  ! 
He  bowed  politely  to  his  friend : 

"  A  cat,"  thought  he,  "  let  that  amend !  " 
Then  pausing,  with  a  puzzled  look, 
A  survey  of  the  stranger  took,  — 
Saw  that  his  eyes  were  open  wide, 
His  tail  curled  neatly  at  his  side, 
His   whiskers   brushed,  all   smooth   his 

fur,— 

But  could  not  catch  his  gentle  purr. 
So  Mouser  deemed  it  wise  and  best 
To  speak,  and  thus  his  friend  addressed : 

"  Friend  of  my  kindred  Catfolk,  here 
Accept  my  welcome  and  good  cheer. 
I  've  been  a  long  time  in  this  house 
The  sole  destroyer  of  the  mouse ; 
[206  ] 


THE   CHRISTMAS   CAT 

Yet  of  the  mice  enough  there  be 
To  satisfy  both  you  and  me, 
And  you  are  welcome  to  your  share 
So  long  as  there  are  mice  to  spare." 

The  woolly  kitten  silent  sat, 
Which  much  surprised  the  elder  cat. 
Then  Mouser  bade  him  tell  his  name, 
How  old  he  was  and  whence  he  came ; 
And  getting  no  response  at  all, 
His  hopes  began  to  faint  and  fall ; 
Yet  once  again  he  spoke,  his  pride 
Too  great  to  let  him  be  denied 
Of  courtesy  and  proper  grace 
By  any  member  of  his  race. 

"  Are  you,"  quoth  Mouser,  "  such  a  cat 
As  would  be  thought  aristocrat, 
Too  proud  and  prim  to  be  polite  ? 
To  meet  a  fellow-cat  at  night 
Halfway  is  what  I  wish  to  do, 
But  not  an  inch  will  venture  you. 
Know,  sir,  my  lineage  can  tell 
On  mother's  side,  a  Tortoise-shell, 
And  on  my  father's,  if  you  please, 
That  ancient  family  —  Maltese ! 
Our  coat-of-arms  is  of  the  best ; 
A  cat-o'-nine-tails  is  my  crest ! 
Speak  then,  if  you  can  boast  of  more, 
I  stand  here  ready  to  adore." 
[207] 


LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS 

But  never  once  the  stranger  stirred, 
Nor  answered  Mouser  with  a  word. 
So  all  his  friendship  spurned  at  last, 
Old  Mouser  from  the  chamber  passed ; 
With  bosom  filled  with  discontent, 
And  mood  unhappy,  out  he  went. 

"  I  Ve  see  all  sorts  of  cats,"  said  he, 

"  And  cats  of  every  pedigree, 
But  until  now  I  Ve  never  come 
Across  a  kitten  deaf  and  dumb ! 
I  pity  him  in  this  old  house, 
He  '11  never  hear  a  single  mouse !  " 

But  when  the  Christmas  morning  broke, 
The  little  boy  from  dreams  awoke, 
And  first  of  all  his  gifts  was  this 
Strange  cat  who  could  n't  purr  or  siss ; 
He  loved  the  woolly  cat  because 
It  did  n't  scratch  him  with  its  claws. 


LYRICS   OF   JOY 

FANCY 


LYRICS  OF  JOY 


CONFESSION 

WHEN  I  was  young  I  made  a  vow 
To  keep  youth  in  my  heart  as  long 
As  there  were  birds  upon  the  bough 
To  gladden  me  with  song : 

To  learn  what  lessons  Life  might  give, 

To  do  my  duty  as  I  saw, 
To  love  my  friends,  to  laugh  and  live 

Not  holding  Death  in  awe. 

So  all  my  lyrics  sing  of  joy, 

And  shall  until  my  lips  are  mute ; 

In  old  age  happy  as  the  boy 
To  whom  God  gave  the  lute. 


WITCHERY 

OUT  of  the  purple  drifts, 
From  the  shadow  sea  of  night, 
On  tides  of  musk  a  moth  uplifts 
Its  weary  wings  of  white. 
[  211  1 


LYRICS  OF  JOY 

Is  it  a  dream  or  ghost 

Of  a  dream  that  comes  to  me, 
Here  in  the  twilight  on  the  coast, 

Blue  cinctured  by  the  sea  ? 

Fashioned  of  foam  and  froth  — 

And  the  dream  is  ended  soon, 
And,  lo,  whence  came  the  moon-white  moth 

Comes  now  the  moth-white  moon  1 


DIES  ULTIMA 

WHITE  in  her  woven  shroud, 
Silent  she  lies, 
Deaf  to  the  trumpets  loud 

Blown  through  the  skies  ; 
Never  a  sound  can  mar 
Her  slumber  long : 
She  is  a  faded  star,  — 
A  finished  song ! 

Over  her  hangs  the  sun, 

A  golden  glow ; 
Round  her  the  planets  run, 

She  does  not  know; 
For  neither  gloom  nor  gleam 

Can  reach  her  sight : 
She  is  a  broken  dream,  — 

A  dead  delight ! 
[212] 


fr  a 


Sfi 


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fottcS?  frer*  r&Ac 


for 
rjr 


A   TEAR  BOTTLE 

No  voice  can  waken  her 

Again  to  sing; 
She  nevermore  will  stir 

To  feel  the  spring ; 
Through  the  dim  ether  hurled 

Till  Time  shall  tire, 
She  is  a  wasted  world, — 

A  frozen  fire ! 


A  TEAR  BOTTLE 

GLASS,  wherein  a  Greek  girl's  tears 
Once  were  gathered  as  they  fell, 
After  these  two  thousand  years 
Is  there  still  no  tale  to  tell  ? 

Buried  with  her,  in  her  mound 
She  is  dust  long  since,  but  you 

Only  yesterday  were  found 
Iridescent  as  the  dew,  — 

Fashioned  faultlessly,  a  form 

Graceful  as  was  hers  whose  cheek 

Once  against  you  made  you  warm 
While  you  heard  her  sorrow  speak. 

At  your  lips  I  listen  long 

For  some  whispered  word  of  her, 

For  some  ghostly  strain  of  song 
In  your  haunted  heart  to  stir : 


LYRICS  OF  JOY 

But  your  crystal  lips  are  dumb, 
Hushed  the  music  in  your  heart : 

Ah,  if  she  could  only  come 
Back  again  and  bid  it  start ! 

Long  is  Art,  but  Life  how  brief ! 

And  the  end  seems  so  unjust :  — 
This  companion  of  her  grief 

Here  to-day,  while  she  is  dust ! 


THE  DAY'S  SHROUD 

FROM  sunrise  to  the  set  of  sun 
The  Winds  went  to  and  fro, 
Singing  the  while  they  deftly  spun 
A  garment  white  like  snow. 

And  in  the  dusk,  unto  the  west 
They  bore  the  robe  of  cloud, 

And  for  the  grave  the  dead  Day  dressed 
Within  this  snowy  shroud. 

Then,  slowly  vanishing  from  sight, 

I  heard  them  softly  sing, 
And  saw  above  the  grave  at  night 

The  stars  all  blossoming. 


A  BIRD'S   ELEGY 


A  SEA  GHOST 

ALL  night  I  heard  along  the  coast 
The  sea  her  grief  outpour ; 
And  with  the  dawn  arose  a  ghost 
To  haunt  the  furrowed  shore. 

And  when  from  out  the  gray  mist  rolled 

The  sun  above  the  town, 
A  shipwrecked  sailor  came  and  told 

Of  how  the  ship  went  down. 

Then  did  I  sudden  understand 

The  sobbing  of  the  sea, 
And  of  that  white  ghost  on  the  sand 

I  knew  the  mystery. 


A  BIRD'S  ELEGY 

HE  was  the  first  to  welcome  Spring ; 
Adventurous,  he  came 
To  wake  the  dreaming  buds  and  sing 
The  crocus  into  flame. 

He  loved  the  morning  and  the  dew ; 

He  loved  the  sun  and  rain ; 
He  fashioned  lyrics  as  he  flew 

With  love  for  their  refrain. 
[215  ] 


LYRICS  OF  JOY 

Poet  of  vines  and  blossoms,  he, 

Beloved  of  them  all ; 
The  timid  leaves  upon  the  tree 

Grew  bold  at  his  glad  call. 

He  sang  the  rapture  of  the  hills, 
And  from  the  starry  height 

He  brought  the  melody  that  fills 
The  meadows  with  delight. 

And  now,  behold  him  dead,  alas ! 

Where  he  made  joy  so  long : 
A  bit  of  blue  amid  the  grass,  — 

A  tiny,  broken  song. 

SECRET 

SOFTLY  the  little  wind  goes  by, 
A  whisper,  —  nothing  more ; 
Some  message  from  the  azure  sky 
Brought  down  to  earth's  green  door. 

Fragrant  and  fresh  the  wonder-word, 
But  what  it  means,  who  knows  ? 

Only  the  butterfly,  the  bird, 
The  leaf,  the  grass  and  rose. 

Theirs  the  divine  felicity, 

The  gift  of  wisdom  rare, 
The  melody,  the  mystery, 

The  secret  of  the  air. 
[216] 


THE   CHARM 


THE  POET 

VOICE  of  the  wind,  of  singing  brook  and  bird, 
Dawn's  message  white  and  midnight's  word, 
These  secrets  all  belong 
Unto  his  song. 

For  Nature  to  the  poet's  heart  alone 
Makes  her  mysterious  meanings  known  : 
He  is  her  voice  and  her 
Interpreter ! 


THE  CHARM 

SLIGHT  is  the  thing  it  needs  to  wake 
The  embers  that  have  slumbered  long 
Within  the  poet's  heart,  and  make 
Them  burn  again  with  song. 

A  rose,  a  star,  a  voice,  a  glance, 
Echo  or  glimpse,  —  it  is  the  same : 

Some  mystery  of  time  or  chance 
That  finds  the  hidden  flame. 

Embers  of  song  and  song's  desire, 
Hushed  in  the  singer's  heart  they  lie, 

And  softly  kindle  into  fire 
If  but  a  dream  go  by. 
[217] 


LYRICS  OF  JOY 

And  none  may  say,  since  none  can  know, 
Whence  comes  the  vivifying  spark 

That  sends  a  transitory  glow 
Of  song  across  the  dark. 

It  is  a  secret  summons,  such 

As  comes  unto  the  spray  when  spring 
Wakens  the  blossoms  with  a  touch, 

That  bids  the  poet,  Sing  ! 

HIS  DESIRE 

OF  all  the  threads  of  rhyme 
Which  I  have  spun, 
I  shall  be  glad  if  Time 
Save  only  one. 

And  I  would  have  each  word 

To  joy  belong  — 
A  lyric  like  a  bird 

Whose  soul  is  song. 

There  is  enough  of  grief 

To  mar  the  years ; 
Be  mine  a  sunny  leaf, 

Untouched  by  tears, 

To  bring  unto  the  heart 

Delight,  and  make 
All  sorrows  to  depart, 

And  joy  to  wake. 
[218] 


THE   MUSE 

No  sermon  mine  to  preach, 

Save  happiness  ; 
No  lesson  mine  to  teach, 

Save  joy  to  bless. 

Joy,  't  is  the  one  best  thing 

Below,  above: 
The  lute's  divinest  string, 

Whose  note  is  love. 


THE  MUSE 

r  I  "*HE  songs  I  make,  they  are  not  mine, 

JL      They  all  belong  to  her 
Whose  words  in  some  strange  way  combine 
To  set  my  heart  astir. 

If  but  her  eyes  look  down  on  me 

The  while  I  pause  to  write, 
By  some  swift  touch  of  sorcery 

The  sombre  lines  grow  bright. 

Her  voice  upon  me  lays  a  spell 

Of  music  soft  and  sweet ; 
Imperfectly,  what  she  may  tell, 

My  lyrics  but  repeat. 

I  am  as  one  who  hears  the  thrush 

In  some  leaf-covert  dim, 
And  in  the  intermittent  hush 

Ponders  the  dew-fresh  hymn : 
[  219! 


LYRICS  OF  JOY 

Or  one  who  in  a  shadowed  place 

Watches  the  stars  agleam, 
And  knows  their  beauty  on  his  face 

Illumining  his  dream  : 

Or  one  who  catches  from  the  rose 

A  fragrant  message  sent 
From  crimson  lips,  and  straightway  knows 

All  of  the  Orient. 

Like  these  am  I,  and  all  my  rhymes 

Are  but  the  records  clear 
That  write  themselves  at  magic  times 

When  she,  the  Muse,  is  near. 

For  could  I  make  my  own  her  song, 

Unto  the  world  I  'd  give 
A  lyric  which  should  live  as  long 

As  song  itself  shall  live ! 


THE  INTERPRETER 

NOT  his  alone  the  gift  divine 
Who  understands  how,  line  by  line, 
To  re-create  the  dream  with  all 
Its  wonder-world  ethereal : 
Something  of  that  same  gift  has  he 
Who,  reading,  through  the  lines  can  see 
The  dream  itself,  —  the  secret  thing 
That  stirred  the  poet's  heart  to  sing. 
[220] 


HARRO 

HARRO 

THIS  is  brave  Harris  story  y 
Harro  who  watched  the  sea  : 
To  his  renown  I  set  it  down 
As  it  was  told  to  me. 

Back  from  the  reef-caught  vessel 
Came  Harro's  comrades  four, 

And  with  them  ten  half-perished  men, 
Safe  landed  on  the  shore. 

"  And  are  these  all  ?  "  asked  Harro. 

Answered  the  sailors  brave  : 
"  Nay.  One  lashed  high  we  left  to  die, 

And  find  an  ocean  grave." 

Cried  Harro  :  "  Who  goes  with  me 

To  rescue  him,  the  last, 
Alive  or  dead  ?  Shall  it  be  said 

We  left  one  on  the  mast  ? " 

Spoke  up  his  gray-haired  mother : 

"  Oh,  Harro  boy,  my  son, 
Go  not,  I  pray  !  'T  is  death  they  say, 

And  there  is  only  one ! 

"  Father  and  brother  Uwe 

The  cruel  sea  hath  slain. 
My  last  art  thou.  Good  Harro,  now 
Let  me  not  plead  in  vain  !  " 
[221  ] 


LYRICS  OF  JOY 

Answered  brave  Harro :  "  Mother, 
Who  knows,  perchance  for  him 

Under  the  skies  a  mother's  eyes 
To-day  with  tears  grow  dim. 

"  Farewell !  God  watches  over 
The  fields  of  flying  foam, 
And  He  shall  keep  us  on  the  deep, 
And  safely  bring  us  home." 

Wild  was  the  storm-swept  ocean, 

And  like  a  fragile  leaf 
The  lifeboat  tossed  long  ere  it  crossed 

Unto  the  distant  reef. 

Wild  was  the  sea,  and  madly 

Ever  the  tempest  blew, 
While  down  the  track  came  Harro  back 

With  one  beside  the  crew. 

Hard  to  the  oars  his  comrades 
Bent  in  the  shrieking  gale ; 

And  Harro  cried,  when  land  he  spied, 
"  Thank  God,  we  shall  not  fail  1 " 

And  when  he  saw  his  mother 

Pacing  the  shore  in  tears, 
Loud  over  all  the  storm  his  call 

Brought  gladness  to  her  ears. 
[  222  ] 


WITH   HERRICK 

Over  and  over  he  shouted, 
And  high  his  cap  he  waved : 

God  gives  thee  joy  !  God  sends  thy  boy  I 
'T  is  Uwe  we  have  saved  I  " 

Such  is  brave  Harris  story  y 

Harro  who  watched  the  sea  : 
To  his  renown  I  set  it  down 

As  it  was  told  to  me. 


WITH  HERRICK 

IN  the  green  woods  is  the  brook, 
Like  a  lyric  in  his  book, 
Singing  as  it  slips  along 
Tender  strains  of  sylvan  song. 
Carol  of  the  thrush's  throat 
Echoes  in  its  liquid  note ; 
Murmur  of  the  woodland  bee 
Haunts  its  drowsy  melody ; 
And  its  music,  soft  and  low, 
Mimics  all  the  gales  that  go 
Whispering  in  boughs  of  green 
Spread  above  it  like  a  screen. 
O'er  its  brink  the  lily,  white 
As  the  risen  moon  at  night, 
Leans  in  rapture,  listening 
To  the  song  it  has  to  sing. 
Like  a  maiden  who  for  love 
From  her  lattice  leans  above, 
[223  ] 


LYRICS  OF  JOY 

Drinking  in  the  song  that  slips 
Through  the  shadows  from  the  lips 
Of  her  lover  in  the  gloom, 
So  above  the  brook  this  bloom 
Leans  to  hear  the  message  sweet 
That  her  lover  may  repeat. 
Loitering  beside  the  stream, 
Is  it  strange  that  I  should  dream  — 
Dream  of  Herrick,  and  of  Her 
For  whose  eyes  his  lyrics  were  ? 
Julia,  —  she  this  lily  is, 
And  the  brook's  songs  all  are  his ! 

CANOE  SONG 

GRACEFULEST  of  buoyant  things, 
Wanting  but  the  snowy  wings 
Of  your  kin,  the  swan,  to  be 
Queen  of  both  the  sky  and  sea ; 
Softly  down  the  tranquil  stream, 
As  through  slumber  glides  a  dream, 
With  the  current  let  us  go 
Where  the  slim  reeds,  row  on  row, 
Make  sweet  music  all  day  long, 
And  the  air  is  full  of  song. 

Silent  as  the  red  man,  who 
Out  of  birch-bark  fashioned  you, 
Steal  along  and  come  upon 
Hosts  of  water-lilies  wan 
[224] 


A   GARLAND 

Suddenly,  and  bring  surprise 
To  their  wonder-waking  eyes  ; 
Then  be  off  again  once  more, 
Shadow-like,  and  haunt  the  shore, 
Gathering  from  bending  grass 
Water  secrets  as  you  pass. 

On  and  on  and  on  we  drift 
Till  the  stars  begin  to  sift 
Through  the  twilight  and,  on  high, 
At  her  window  in  the  sky 
Comes  the  Night's  pale  bride  to  hark 
For  his  message  through  the  dark ; 
Till  at  last  the  silver  sand 
Reaches  down  and  bids  us  land, 
Then  till  dawn,  farewell  to  you  — 
Sister  of  the  Swan  —  Canoe ! 


A  GARLAND 

LET  me  a  garland  twine 
For  poets  nine, 
Whose  verse 
I  love  best  to  rehearse. 

For  each  a  laurel  leaf, 
One  stanza  brief, 

I  make 

memory's  sweet  sake. 
I  225  1 


LYRICS  OF  JOY 

First,  then,  THEOCRITUS, 
Whose  song  for  us 

Still  yields 
The  fragrance  of  the  fields. 

Next,  HORACE,  singing  yet 
Of  love,  regret, 

And  flowers : 
This  Roman  rose  is  ours. 

OMAR-FITZGERALD  next, 
Within  whose  text 

There  lies 
A  charm  to  win  the  wise. 

Then  SHAKESPEARE,  by  whose  light 
All  poets  write : 

The  star, 
Whose  satellites  they  are  1 

HERRICK  then  let  me  name, 
Whose  lyrics  came 

Like  birds 
To  sing  his  happy  words. 

Then  KEATS,  whose  jewel  rhyme 
Shines  for  all  time, 

To  tell 

Of  him  the  gods  loved  well. 
[226] 


A   GARLAND 

LONGFELLOW  next  I  choose : 
For  him  the  muse 

Held  up 
Song's  over-brimming  cup. 

Next  TENNYSON,  whose  song, 
Still  clear  and  strong, 

Soars  high, 
Nearing  each  day  the  sky. 

Then  ALDRICH  —  like  a  thrush 
In  the  dawn's  flush, 

Who  sings 
With  dew  upon  his  wings. 

These  are  the  nine,  above 
Whose  leaves  I  love 

To  lean, 
My  happiness  to  glean. 

Theirs  are  the  books  that  hold 
Joy's  clearest  gold 

For  me, 
Wrought  into  melody ; 

Theirs  are  the  words  to  start 
Within  my  heart 

The  fire 

Of  song  and  song's  desire ! 
[227] 


LYRICS  OF  JOY 


A  PRAYER 

IT  is  my  joy  in  life  to  find 
At  every  turning  of  the  road, 
The  strong  arm  of  a  comrade  kind 
To  help  me  onward  with  my  load. 

And  since  I  have  no  gold  to  give, 
And  love  alone  must  make  amends, 

My  only  prayer  is,  while  I  live,  — 
God  make  me  worthy  of  my  friends  ! 


ARBUTUS 

NATURE 

THE  YEAR'S  DAY 

AFTER  the  winter's  night 
From  the  world  is  withdrawn, 
Out  of  the  darkness  gleams  the  light,  — 
Spring — and  the  Year's  fresh  dawn. 

Blossom  and  leaf  and  bud, 

And  the  birds  all  in  tune ; 
Then  in  a  fragrant,  golden  flood,  — 

Summer  —  the  Year's  glad  noon. 

Crimson  the  roses  blow, 

And  the  grove's  breath  is  musk : 
Then  to  the  Year  the  sunset  glow,  — 

Autumn  —  and  hints  of  dusk. 

Glimmer  the  stars  of  frost, 

And  the  wind  at  the  door 
Mournfully  sings  of  something  lost :  — 

Winter  —  and  night  once  more. 

ARBUTUS 

ALONG  the  woods'  brown  edge 
The  wind  goes  wandering 
To  find  the  first  pink  pledge  — 
The  hint  of  Spring. 
[229] 


LYRICS  OF  JOY 

The  withered  leaves  around, 
She  scatters  every  one, 

And  gives  to  wintry  ground 
A  glimpse  of  sun. 

And  to  the  woodland  dumb 

And  desolate  so  long 
She  calls  the  birds  to  come 

With  happy  song. 

Then  the  arbutus  !   This 

The  pledge,  the  hint  she  sought, 
The  blush,  the  breath,  the  kiss,— 

Spring's  very  thought ! 


VIOLET 

IN  this  white  world  of  wonder 
All  wrapt  in  silence  deep, 
Shut  in  her  palace  under 

The  snow  she  lies  asleep ; 
And  she  shall  only  waken 

When  lyrics  sweet  and  clear 
Out  of  the  trees  are  shaken, 
And  April 's  here. 

Glimpses  of  grass  and  gleams  of 
The  golden  sunlight  bring 

Visions  of  joy  and  dreams  of 
The  miracle  of  Spring : 
[230] 


APRIL 

She  sees  the  shining  faces 
Of  buds  and  leaves  appear, 

Lighting  the  shadowed  spaces 
W\\h  April's  here! 

Then,  O  the  nameless  rapture 

Of  that  warm  touch  at  last, 
When  April  comes  to  capture 

And  hold  her  fragrance  fast ! 
The  dream  of  winter  broken, 

Behold  her,  blue  and  dear, 
Shy  Violet,  sure  token 

That  April 's  here ! 


APRIL 

AFTER  the  silence  long 
On  valley  and  hill, 
Listen,  —  again  the  song 
Of  the  silver  rill ! 

Vanishes  from  the  plains 
The  prison  of  snow ; 

Broken  the  crystal  chains, 
And  the  captives  go ; 

Over  the  Winter's  tomb 
The  bird  in  its  mirth 

Carols  of  bud  and  bloom 
To  the  barren  earth ; 
[231  3 


LYRICS  OF  JOY 

Tremble  the  vines  and  trees 

With  ecstasy  then, 
Hearing  the  lisping  breeze 

Hint  of  Spring  again. 

Mystery  fills  the  air, 

And  melody  sweet 
Follows  the  pathways  where 

Glimmer  Spring's  white  feet. 

Over  the  meadow's  floor 

She  hastens,  and  —  see  ! 
April  is  at  the  door 

With  her  golden  key. 

MAY  MORNING 

WHAT  magic  flutes  are  these  that  make 
Sweet  melody  at  dawn, 
And  stir  the  dewy  leaves  to  shake 
Their  silver  on  the  lawn  ? 

What  miracle  of  music  wrought 

In  shadowed  groves  is  this  ? 
All  ecstasy  of  sound  upcaught,  — 

Song's  apotheosis ! 

The  dreaming  lilies  lift  their  heads 

To  listen  and  grow  wise  ; 
The  fragrant  roses  from  their  beds 

In  sudden  beauty  rise : 
[232  ] 


HONEYSUCKLES 

Enraptured,  on  the  eastern  hill, 

A  moment,  halts  the  sun ! 
Day  breaks ;  and  all  again  is  still : 

The  thrushes'  song  is  done ! 

HONEYSUCKLES 

WITHIN  a  belfry  built  of  bloom, 
Above  the  garden  wall  they  swing ; 
A  chime  of  bells  for  winds  to  ring, 
Of  mingled  music  and  perfume. 

What  scented  syllables  of  song 

Throughout  the  day  their  tongues  repeat ! 

They  tempt  with  promise,  honey-sweet, 
The  listener  to  linger  long. 

A  bit  of  sunset  cloud  astray, 

The  dappled  butterfly  floats  near, 
Lured  by  the  fragrant  music  clear, 

Trembles  with  joy,  then  fades  away. 

And  thither  oft,  from  time  to  time, 
The  humming-bird  and  golden  bee 
List,  and  go  mad  with  melody,  — 

The  honey-music  of  the  chime. 

y 

And  thither  when  the  silver  gleam 
Of  moon  and  stars  is  over  all, 
One  white  moth  hovers  near  the  wall,  — 

A  ghost  to  haunt  the  garden's  dream  I 
[233] 


LYRICS  OF  JOY 


WINTER  DREAMS 

DEEP  lies  the  snow  on  wood  and  field ; 
Gray  stretches  overhead  the  sky; 
The  streams,  their  lips  of  laughter  sealed, 
In  silence  wander  slowly  by. 

Earth  slumbers,  and  her  dreams,  —  who  knows 
But  they  may  sometimes  be  like  ours  ? 

Lyrics  of  spring  in  winter's  prose 

That  sing  of  buds  and  leaves  and  flowers; 

Dreams  of  that  day  when  from  the  south 
Comes  April,  as  at  first  she  came, 

To  hold  the  bare  twig  to  her  mouth 
And  blow  it  into  fragrant  flame. 

WHITE  MAGIC 

WHEN  Winter  hushes  for  a  time 
The  music  of  the  sylvan  brook, 
And  shuts  its  witchery  of  rhyme 
In  her  white  book, 

The  world  is  not  yet  dumb  ; 
For  in  the  snow-hung  vines  and  trees 
With  their  cold  blossoms,  icy  clear, 
Invisible  the  winds  like  bees 
Swarm,  and  I  hear 

Their  weird  and  wizard  hum. 
[  234  ] 


FOOTPRINTS   IN   THE   SNOW 

Such  is  the  magic  wand  she  wields 

That  she  can  shape  my  fancy  so 
My  dreams  are  all  of  fragrant  fields 

The  wild  bees  know 

In  summer's  golden  noon  ; 
And  through  the  dull  December  hours 

Mine  is  the  month  for  which  I  long,  — 
The  barren  branch  grows  bright  with  flowers 

Where  the  bees  throng,  — 

White  magic,  — winter  June  1 


FOOTPRINTS  IN  THE  SNOW 

WORN  is  the  winter  rug  of  white, 
And  in  the  snow-bare  spots  once  more 
Glimpses  of  faint  green  grass  in  sight,  — 
Spring's  footprints  on  the  floor. 

Upon  the  sombre  forest  gates 

A  crimson  flush  the  mornings  catch, 

The  token  of  the  Spring  who  waits 
With  finger  on  the  latch. 

Blow,  bugles  of  the  south,  and  win 

The  warders  from  their  dreams  too  long, 

And  bid  them  let  the  new  guest  in 
With  her  glad  hosts  of  song. 

She  shall  make  bright  the  dismal  ways 

With  broideries  of  bud  and  bloom, 

[235] 


LYRICS  OF  JOY 

With  music  fill  the  nights  and  days 
And  end  the  garden's  gloom. 

Her  face  is  lovely  with  the  sun ; 

Her  voice  —  ah,  listen  to  it  now ! 
The  silence  of  the  year  is  done : 

The  bird  is  on  the  bough  1 

Spring  here,  —  by  what  magician's  touch  ? 

T  was  winter  scarce  an  hour  ago. 
And  yet  I  should  have  guessed  as  much,  — 

Those  footprints  in  the  snow ! 


NANTUCKET 

DEAR  old  Nantucket's  isle  of  sand 
An  ancient  exile  from  the  Land,  — 
Free  from  the  devastating  hand 

Of  pomp  and  pillage, 
I  find  it  year  by  year  with  all 
Its  white-winged  fleet  of  cat-boats  small 
Guarding  what  Fancy  loves  to  call 
The  violet  village. 

The  yellow  cliffs,  the  houses  white, 
The  wind-mill  with  its  wheel  in  sight, 
The  church  spire  and  the  beacons  bright, 
All  bunched  together ; 
[236] 


NANTUCKET 

How  picturesque  they  are !  How  fair ! 
And,  O  how  fragrant  is  the  air, 
With  pink  wild-roses  everywhere, 
And  purple  heather ! 

Half  foreign  seems  the  little  town,  — 
The  narrow  streets,  the  tumble-down 
And  rotting  wharves  whose  past  renown 

Is  linked  with  whalers,  — 
The  roofs  with  Look-outs  whence  they  saw 
In  bygone  days  the  big  ships  draw 
Homeward  with  oil,  and  watched  with  awe 

The  sea-worn  sailors : 

Half  foreign,  but  the  better  half 
Is  like  the  flag  that  from  the  staff 
Flings  out  its  welcome,  starry  laugh,  — 

Native  completely ; 

The  shops,  the  schools,  the  zigzag  lines 
Of  shingled  dwellings  hung  with  vines, 
And  gardens  wrought  in  quaint  designs 

And  smelling  sweetly. 

Here  one  may  wander  forth  and  meet 
Skippers  of  eighty  years  whose  feet 
Find  youth  yet  in  the  paven  street ; 

And  if  one  hunger 
For  yarns  of  wrecks  and  water  lore, 
Pass  the  tobacco  round  once  more, 
And  hear  what  happened  long  before, 

When  he  was  younger. 

[237] 


LYRICS  OF  JOY 

Enchanting  tales  of  wind  and  wave, 
Witty,  pathetic,  gay  and  grave, — 
One  listens  in  the  merman's  cave 

Enraptured,  breathless, 
While  from  the  gray,  bewhiskered  lips 
Come  stories  of  the  sea  and  ships ; 
The  careful  skipper  never  skips 

The  legends  deathless. 

Then  out  again,  and  let  us  go 

Where  fresh  and  cool  the  breezes  blow 

Over  the  dunes  of  Pocomo, 

Where  bird  and  berry 
Conspire  to  lure  us  on  until, 
Over  the  gently  sloping  hill, 
We  see  Wauwinet,  white  and  still 

And  peaceful  very. 

Here  is  the  ending  of  the  quest ; 
Here,  on  this  Island  of  the  Blest, 
Is  found  at  last  the  Port  of  Rest,  — 

Remote,  romantic : 
A  land-flower  broken  from  the  stem, 
And  few  indeed  there  be  of  them 
Fitted  so  perfectly  to  gem 

The  blue  Atlantic. 

Dreamy,  delicious,  drowsy,  dull,  — 
A  poppy-island  beautiful ; 
And  there  are  poppies  here  to  cull 
Until  the  plunder 
[238] 


NANTUCKET 

Provokes  the  soul  to  sleep  and  dream 
Amid  the  glamour  and  the  gleam, 
And  makes  the  world  about  us  seem 
A  world  of  wonder ! 


LYRICS  OF  JOY 

LOVE 

TO  JULIET 

(Cum  regnat  rosa) 

HEEDLESS  how  it  may  fare  with  Time, 
I  send  you  here  a  rose  of  rhyme : 
Its  fragrance,  love;  its  color,  one 
Caught  from  Hope's  ever-constant  sun ; 
Upon  each  leaf  a  lyric  writ  — 
Your  eyes  alone  may  witness  it ; 
And  in  its  heart  for  you  to  see 
Another  heart  —  the  heart  of  me. 

All  roses  are  as  fitly  worn 

By  you  as  by  your  sister  Morn, 

Since  you,  like  Morn,  fail  not  to  give 

New  beauty  to  them  while  they  live. 

If  this  against  your  bosom  rest 

One  brief,  sweet  hour  its  life  were  blest ; 

Then,  should  you  chance  to  cast  it  by, 

It  would  not  find  it  hard  to  die. 

So  take  this  bloom  of  love  and  song, 
And,  be  its  life  or  l>rief  or  long, 
Know  that  for  you  the  petals  part, 
Disclosing  all  its  lyric  heart ; 
For  you  its  fragrant  breaths  are  drawn ; 
For  you  its  color — love's  glad  dawn; 
[  240  ] 


ROSE   LORE 

And  for  you,  too,  the  heart  that  goes 
Song-prisoned  in  this  rhyme  of  rose  1 


ROSE  LORE 

NOW  since  it  knows 
My  heart  so  well, 
Would  that  this  rose 
Might  speak  and  tell ! 

You  could  not  scorn 
Its  winsome  grace, 

The  blush  of  morn 
Upon  its  face. 

Unto  your  own 

You  needs  must  press 
The  sweet  mouth  prone 

To  tenderness ; 

Then,  lip  to  lip, 

With  rapture  stirred, 
You  might  let  slip 

The  secret  word, 

With  fragrant  kiss 

Interpreting 
The  dream  of  bliss 

The  rose  would  bring. 
[241  ] 


LYRICS  OF  JOY 

Then  to  your  breast 

Take  it  to  be 
Your  own  heart's  best 

Love-augury,  — 
A  welcome  guest,  — 

To  gladden  me. 

THE  BOWER  OF  CUPID 

WHOSO  enters  at  this  portal 
Shall  find  Love  the  one  immortal. 
Green  the  grove  that  hides  the  grotto 
Over  which  is  hung  this  motto ; 
Broidered  paths  of  bloom  and  berry 
Lead  unto  the  monarch  merry ; 
Birds  above  on  leafy  branches 
Loosen  lyric  avalanches ; 
Bees  go  singing  in  the  sunny, 
Blossom-builded  haunts  of  honey ; 
Flutes  of  brooks  and  lutes  of  grasses 
Waken  with  each  wind  that  passes ; 
All  is  fragrance,  song  and  joy, 
Made  for  one  immortal  boy ! 

Many  seek  this  grotto  hidden ; 
Welcome  all,  and  none  forbidden. 
Soft  the  air  and  clear  as  amber ; 
Round  the  gate  red  roses  clamber ; 
Day  long,  mirth  and  music  fill  it ; 
Night  sends  moon  and  star  to  thrill  it. 

[242] 


THE  BOWER  OF   CUPID 

Voices,  visions,  dreams  of  rapture, 
There  await,  the  heart  to  capture ; 
Full  it  is  of  faultless  faces  — 
All  the  Muses  and  the  Graces ; 
Poem,  picture,  flower  and  fancy, 
Every  form  of  necromancy ; 
Naught  to  worry  or  annoy, 
Save  the  one  immortal  boy  I 

In  this  grotto  lies  the  golden 
Guest-book,  full  of  legends  olden, 
Writ  by  lovers  on  its  pages 
Since  the  daybreak  of  the  ages ; 
Paris,  Helen,  Petrarch,  Laura, 
Meleager,  Heliodora, 
All  the  glorious  Amante 
Sung  of  old  by  Tuscan  Dante, 
Names  that  shine  in  song  and  story 
Crowd  this  volume  with  their  glory,  - 
Tokens  left  by  all  the  lovers 
In  the  world,  between  the  covers ; 
Yet  the  record  cannot  cloy 
Love,  the  one  immortal  boy. 

Eve  in  Eden,  fresh  and  pearly, 
Found  on  Earth  this  grotto  early ; 
So,  it  came  forever  after 
To  be  haunted  by  her  laughter. 
What  a  countless  throng  have  tasted 
Love  therein  ere  life  was  wasted ! 
[243] 


LYRICS  OF  JOY 

Blind  they  call  the  boy,  in  kindness, 
Yet  is  theirs  the  only  blindness. 
He  is  sure  of  ear  and  vision,; 
Hearts  he  matches  with  precision ; 
That  is  Cupid's  only  duty 
In  this  bower  of  bliss  and  beauty — 
That  the  end  of  all  employ 
Is  for  one  immortal  boy ! 


MOONLIGHT  AND  MUSIC 

DEAR  Heart,  do  you  remember 
That  summer  by  the  sea, 
One  blue  night  in  September 

When  you  were  here  with  me, 
How  like  a  pearl  uplifted 
The  full  moon  rose  and  drifted, 
And  how  the  shadows  shifted 
Until  the  stars  were  free  ? 


Along  the  beach  the  breakers 

Brought  in  their  lavish  store, 
Gathered  from  ocean  acres, 

And  strewed  the  curving  shore ; 
Grasses  that  gleamed  and  glistened, 
Flowers  that  the  sea  had  christened, 
Shells  at  whose  lips  you  listened 
To  learn  their  wonder-lore. 
[  244  1 


MOONLIGHT  AND   MUSIC 

Softly  the  breeze  blew  over 

From  groves  and  gardens  fair, 
Spilling  a  scent  of  clover 

Into  the  balmy  air; 
The  breath  of  pines  around  us, 
Fragrant  it  came  and  found  us 
Just  as  the  moonlight  crowned  us 
And  Love  at  last  came  there. 

What  music  hailed  our  rapture ! 

What  singers  on  the  sand 
Were  they  whose  hearts  could  capture 

Our  joy  and  understand  ? 
O  Wind  and  Wave,  they  guessed  it, 
They  sang  it  and  confessed  it,  — 
Their  love  and  ours,  —  and  blessed  it 

There  on  the  moonlit  strand  I 

Dear  Heart,  still  sweet  the  story, 
For  all  the  years  gone  by : 

Still  floods  the  moon  with  glory 
The  land,  the  sea,  the  sky ; 

And  still  the  night-moth  hovers 

Around  us  and  discovers 

The  same  devoted  lovers,  — 
Wind,  Wave,  and  You  and  I. 


[245] 


LYRICS  OF  JOY 

IN  ABSENCE 

n  matters  not  how  far  I  fare, 
Or  in  what  land  I  bide, 
Your  voice  sings  ever  on  the  air, 
Your  face  shines  at  my  side. 

For  me  each  crimson  flower  that  slips 

Its  velvet  sheath  of  green 
Yields  the  remembrance  of  your  lips 

With  all  their  sweets  between. 

Your  hair  is  in  the  dusk  that  lies 

Around  me  when  I  rest ; ; 
My  only  stars  are  your  dear  eyes, 

Love's  own  and  loveliest. 

Happy  am  I,  though  far  apart 
From  all  that  makes  life  dear  : 

Love  dwells  contented  in  my  heart, 
Exiled  yet  always  near. 

Then  take  my  message,  Sweet,  and  know 

How  far  your  love  has  flown 
To  cheer  and  bless  your  lover,  so 

Lonely,  but  not  alone : 

I  send  it  from  the  drowsy  South, 

A  dream  of  my  delight, 
A  message  to  your  rosebud  mouth  — 

A  kiss,  and  a  good-night ! 


TO  HER 

FOR   MUSIC 

LOVE'S  SPRINGTIDE 

MY  heart  was  winter-bound  until 
I  heard  you  sing : 
O  voice  of  Love ,  hush  not,  but  fill 
My  life  with  Spring ! 

My  hopes  were  homeless  things  before 

I  saw  your  eyes  : 
O  smile  of  Love,  close  not  the  door 

To  paradise  ! 

My  dreams  were  bitter  once,  and  then 

I  found  them  bliss  : 
O  lips  of  Love,  give  me  again 

Your  rose  to  kiss  ! 

Springtide  of  love !  The  secret  sweet 

Is  ours  alone : 
O  heart  of  Love,  at  last  you  beat 

Against  my  own  ! 

TO  HER 

MY  songs  are  all  for  her 
Whose  love  I  fain  would  win : 
Each  to  her  heart,  a  wanderer, 
Goes  singing :  Let  me  in  ! 

[247] 


LYRICS  OF  JOY 

Her  eyes  my  beacons  be, 
Her  lips  my  rosy  guides, 

And  in  her  heart  a  melody 
For  every  word  abides. 

Be  brave,  be  brave,  my  song, 
Nor  falter  in  the  quest : 

Love  in  her  heart  has  waited  long 
To  greet  the  singing  guest. 

And  be  it  yours  to  know 
The  latch  lift  on  the  door ; 

Once  in  her  heart  —  Go,  lyric,  go ! 
Be  hers  for  evermore ! 


MY  APRIL 

SWEETHEART,  comes  laughing  April  now 
To  right  the  Winter's  wrong ; 
And  back  to  the  forsaken  bough 
The  bluebird  comes  with  song: 
And,  rivals  of  the  stars  above, 
Stars  in  the  grass  you  see ; 
So,  like  your  namesake,  April,  Love  — 
My  April,  come  to  me ! 

She  brings  the  blossom  to  the  vine, 

A  token  fresh  and  new ; 
She  fills  the  crocus  cup  with  wine, 

A  pledge  that  she  is  true ; 
[  248  J 


A   MAY  MADRIGAL 

She  sends  the  sunshine  after  rain, 

A  golden  augury : 
Sweetheart,  and  must  I  plead  in  vain  ? 

My  April,  come  to  me ! 

Oh,  Winter  lies  upon  my  heart 

A  dreariness  and  woe  : 
It  needs  but  your  dear  smile  to  start 

The  buds  of  hope  to  blow ; 
It  needs  but  your  sweet  lips  to  bring 

The  message  that  shall  be 
Like  April's  own,  all  love  and  Spring : 

My  April,  come  to  me  I 

A  MAY  MADRIGAL 

Q^WEETHEART,  the  buds  are  on  the  tree, 
vJ     The  birds  are  back  once  more, 
And  with  their  songs  they  call  to  me 

To  open  wide  my  door : 
So  wide  shall  stand  the  door  to-day 

Because  my  heart  is  true 
To  bud  and  bird,  to  mirth  and  May, 

And,  most  of  all,  to  You ! 

Sweetheart,  the  leaves  begin  to  show, 

The  grass  is  green  again, 
And  on  the  breeze  sweet  odors  blow 

From  wild  flowers  in  the  glen : 
The  world  is  glad  with  voice  and  wing, 

And  all  the  skies  are  blue ; 
[  249  ] 


LYRICS  OF  JOY 

The  scent,  the  song,  the  soul  of  Spring, 
I  find  them  all  in  You ! 


Sweetheart,  the  snows  have  gone,  and  now 

It  is  the  mating  time. 
Hark  to  the  lover  on  the  bough, 

What  melody  sublime ! 
What  ecstasy  of  passion,  pride, 

And  love  and  rapture,  too ! 
So  door  and  heart  stand  open  wide 

To  welcome  May  and  You ! 


NOCTURNE 

ABOVE  the  sea  in  splendor 
The  new  moon  hangs  alone, 
A  silver  crescent  slender 
Set  in  a  sapphire  zone ; 
Around  me  breathe  the  tender, 
Sweet  zephyrs  of  the  south : 
Night  will  not  let 
My  heart  forget 
Her  kisses  and  her  mouth. 

The  loose  sails  idly  swinging, 
The  ship  lights'  glow  and  gleam, 

The  bell-buoys'  muffled  ringing, 
Drive  all  my  thoughts  to  dream,  - 

To  dream  of  her  voice  singing 
[  250] 


MEMORIES 

The  songs  I  love  the  best : 

Night  will  not  let 

My  heart  forget 
Where  she  has  made  her  nest ! 

O  Love,  where  art  thou  biding 

While  hangs  this  moon  on  high  ? 
Star  in  the  twilight  hiding, 

Come  forth  and  light  the  sky 
Above  the  ship  slow  gliding 
Over  the  southern  sea : 
Night  will  not  let 
My  heart  forget 
Love's  eyes  that  shine  for  me ! 

MEMORIES 

AS  Love  and  I  went  walking 
Along  the  sea's  gray  shore, 
We  heard  the  green  waves  talking, 
And  love  was  all  their  lore. 

The  purple  shadows  shifted, 
And  through  the  twilight  long 

From  singing  stars  there  drifted 
Our  sweet  betrothal  song. 

But  once,  in  days  long  after, 
We  walked  there,  Love  and  I ; 

The  waves  had  lost  their  laughter, 
The  stars  were  hushed  on  high. 
[251  ] 


LYRICS  OF  JOY 

And  each  remembered  only 
A  little  voice  —  oh,  years, 

How  long  they  are,  and  lonely  I 
Oh,  heart,  how  full  of  tears ! 


A  SONG'S  ECHO 

MY  Love  is  like  a  Winter  rose 
That  sweetly  blooms  alone, 
That  has  of  rivals  none,  and  knows 
A  beauty  all  her  own. 

My  Love  is  like  a  tender  tune 

That  wakens  tender  words, 
And  fills  December  full  of  June, 

And  brings  again  the  birds. 

Her  smile,  my  sun ;  her  voice,  my  song ; 

Her  face,  my  flower  of  bliss ; 
Oh,  who  could  find  the  Winter  long 

With  such  a  Love  as  this ! 


WITH  ROSES 

HERE  are  roses  red, 
For  their  fragrance  love  them  : 
When  you  bend  your  head 

Tenderly  above  them, 
To  your  own  lips,  sweet, 
Lift  them  up  and  hold  them 
[  252  ] 


TWO   SONGS 

While  their  lips  repeat 

What  my  heart  has  told  them. 

Grant  them  of  your  grace, 

With  your  beauty  bless  them, 
Fold  them  to  your  face, 

Kiss  them,  and  caress  them. 
Brief  their  day,  and  so 

Only  gladness  give  them, 
Yours  the  joy  to  know 

Love  that  shall  outlive  them 


TWO  SONGS 


HER  greeting  is  a  dulcet  bell  — 
Love's  daybreak  and  delight ; 
Her  smile  is  noon,  and  her  farewell 

Leads  in  the  stars  at  night. 
She  is  the  sunrise  and  the  gleam 

Of  dew  upon  the  rose, 
The  vision  that  evokes  the  dream, 
The  song  in  slumber's  prose.j 

ii 

Roses  are  the  rhymes  T  wreathe  — 

Take  them,  every  one  ; 
Love  —  the  fragrance  that  you  breathe, 

And  your  smile  their  sun. 

;,  [  253  1 


LYRICS  OF  JOY 

When  the  petals  fall  apart, 

Then  in  melody, 
You  shall  read  a  rose's  heart, 

And  the  heart  of  me. 


SURF  MUSIC 

SONNETS 

SAINT  ROSE 

DEAR  Rose,  what  volumes  it  would  need  to  hold 
The  songs  that  poets  have  been  fain  to  sing 
In  praise  of  you,  —  the  ruby  in  June's  ring, 
Jewel  of  fragrance  set  in  summer's  gold  1 
What  tender  words  of  worship,  since  of  old 
In  Eden  Love  first  found  you  blossoming, 
Have  blest  your  beauty,  hoping  so  to  bring 
A  touch  of  warmth  unto  a  bosom  cold ! 

Poets  and  Lovers  there  shall  ever  be 

So  long  as  there  are  gardens  where  the  vine 

Builds  a  green  temple  of  felicity 

Within  whose  leaves  is  found  your  fragrant  shrine. 

O  sweet  Saint  Rose !  Dear  flower  of  melody,  — 
A  lover's  token,  take  this  song  of  mine. 


SURF  MUSIC 

ALL  day  I  hear  along  the  sandy  shore 
The  melancholy  music  of  the  Sea ; 
'  The  green-robed  choir  of  Ocean  sing  to  me, 
Chanting  the  legends  of  their  ancient  lore. 
[255] 


LYRICS  OF  JOY 

I  hear  the  tales  of  mariners  of  yore, 

Of  ships  gone  down,  of  tempests  blowing  free ; 

I  hear  the  mast,  remembering  the  tree, 
Grieve  for  the  grove  and  all  its  leaves  once  more. 

But  when  night  comes  and  in  the  deep  blue  sky 
Gather  the  stars  above  the  fields  of  foam, 

The  music  changes,  and  in  fancy  I 
Again  the  old  familiar  forests  roam 

And  hear  the  mast's  companions  as  they  cry: 

Blow,  Wind,  and  bring  our  captive  brother  home ! 


TO  A  MOCKING  BIRD 

THOU  feathered  minstrel  perched  in  yonder  tree, 
Thou  bird-magician  in  a  blue-gray  coat, 
Trickster  of  tune,  thou  canst  repeat  by  rote 
Thy  rivals'  songs  and  win  their  loves  to  thee ! 
Song-sorcerer,  who  canst  with  melody 

Lure  us  to  listen ;  thou  whose  slender  throat 
Is  full  of  magic,  bubbling  note  by  note ; 
Mimic  of  music,  sing  thou  on  to  me ! 

Chatter  of  blackbird,  warble  of  the  wren, 
Joy  of  the  jay,  and  passion  of  the  thrush, 

And  every  trill  that  ever  bird  has  known  — 
I  heard  him  jesting  for  a  while  ;  and  then, 
Softly  upon  the  morning  in  a  gush 
Of  lyric  love  I  heard  him  call  his  own. 
[256] 


THE   SHOWER 

MUSIC 

IN  vain  the  quest :  no  mortal  eyes  may  know 
The  secret  haunt  wherein  by  day  and  night 
She  shapes  her  dreams  of  audible  delight 
And  sends  them  forth  to  wander  to  and  fro : 
Spirits  of  Sound,  invisible  they  go 

To  fill  the  world  with  wonder  in  their  flight ; 
Celestial  voices,  from  whose  starry  height 
Strange  hints  of  song  steal  down  to  earth  below. 

Listen  and  hear  the  rhythmic  echoes  fall,  — 
The  winds  and  waves  and  leaves  and  bees  and 

birds,  — 

The  blended  harmony  of  reeds  and  strings,  — 
Chorus  and  orchestra,  —  the  voice  and  all 
The  miracle  of  melody  and  words,  — 

Music  herself  it  is  who  dreams  and  sings ! 

THE  SHOWER 

HOUR  after  hour  relentlessly  the  sun 
Shriveled  the  leaves  and  parched  the 

meadow  grass : 

The  sky  was  yellow  and  like  molten  brass 
The  heat  poured  down  until  the  day  was  done. 
Red  the  round  moon  arose,  and  one  by  one 
Blossomed  the  stars  and  in  the  river's  glass 
Beheld  their  beauty,  but  the  breeze,  alas ! 
Refused  to  break  the  web  the  spider  spun. 
[257] 


LYRICS  OF  JOY 

But  with  the  dawn  a  little  cloud  drew  near, 
Leading  a  host  forth  on  the  azure  plain. 

A  distant  rumble,  then  a  forest  cheer, 

And  then  a  gust  that  whirled  the  weather-vane ; 

And  then,  at  last,  —  O  melody  most  dear  ! 
The  soft  alliteration  of  the  rain. 

THE  WINTER  POOL 

DEEP  in  the  woods,  amid  the  giant  trees 
It  lies  alone  within  an  open  space, 
Beloved  in  summer  by  the  sylvan  race 
Of  God's  best  poets  —  birds  and  golden  bees ; 
Diana's  mirror,  full  of  memories 

Of  all  the  nameless  wonder  of  her  face, 
And  of  the  myriad  jewel-stars  that  grace 
Orion's  glory  and  the  Pleiades. 

Behold  it  now,  all  ghostly  white  and  still, 
Shut  in  the  shadow  of  the  ice  and  snow, 

A  solitary,  sad,  forsaken  thing ; 
Bereft  of  beauty,  marred  and  dark  until  ] 
Diana  comes  again  and  looks  to  know 

Her  luring  smile  —  the  loveliness  of  Spring ! 


T 


BETRAYAL 

HERE  came  a  day  in  winter  when  the  sun 
Reached  down  and  swept  the  world  all  clean  of 

snow ; 

When  captive  streams  long  hushed  in  icy  woe 
[258! 


THE   SNOW'S   DREAMER 

Escaped  with  song  again  to  dance  and  run : 
Between  the  purple  hills  the  vales  were  spun 
With  silver  mist,  and,  dreaming  in  the  glow, 
The  trees  and  vines  were  tremulous  as  though 
They  felt  the  buds  unfolding  one  by  one. 

Just  for  a  day  this  glamour  touched  the  dearth 
And  dreariness  of  life,  —  one  vision  brief 

Of  joy  that  lit  the  sorrow  of  the  earth, — 
Then  passed,  and  with  it  hope  went  and  belief : 

So  Love  once  came  and  with  a  voice  of  mirth 
Betrayed  my  heart  and  left  it  dumb  with  grief. 

THE  SNOW'S  DREAMER 

A    SLEEP  within  her  marble  room  she  lies, 
JL\.     And  dreams  of  days  to  come  when  she  shall  go 

Across  the  meadows  in  the  morning' glow, 
Song  on  her  lips,  and  gladness  in  her  eyes : 
In  dreams  she  sees  again  the  warm,  blue  skies, 

And  breathes  the  fragrance  which  the  soft  gales 
blow 

From  trees  whose  blossoms,  like  belated  snow, 
Have  filled  the  orchards  with  a  sweet  surprise. 

So  shall  she  dream,  and  slumber  on  until 

The  first  faint  whispers  of  the  south  wind  bring 

The  shy  anemones,  all  white  with  fear, 
To  look  upon  her  in  her  chamber  still ; 

Then,  waking,  hear  the  bluebird  blithely  sing 
To  welcome  in  the  Daybreak  of  the  Year ! 
[259] 


LYRICS  OF  JOY 

t 
.  THE  CATHEDRAL  BELLS 

{Old  Spanish  Cathedral,  St.  Attgustine,  Florida) 

HIGH  in  the  old  cathedral  tower  they  hung,  — 
Four  ancient  bells,  the  bronze  arpeggio 
•    That  called  to  prayer  the  gray  monks  long  ago, 
And  marked  the  hour  while  mass  was  said  and  sung. 
Over  a  land  of  fragrant  flowers  they  flung 
Petals  of  music  that  were  wont  to  blow 
Out  of  the  rose  of  Time,  whereof  we  know 
Naught  save  how  sweet  it  is  and  ever  young. 

Listen !  across  the  midnight  comes  their  call,  — 
Twelve  in  succession  sound  the  bell-notes  clear : 

A  day  has  gone ;  another  day,  begun. 
Awake,  I  hear  them  saying  as  they  fall : 
Vale,  Hispania  !  Day  of  shadows  drear ! 
Ave,  America  !  Day  of  joy  and  sun ! 


STARLIGHT 

QUATRAINS 

DAWN 

OUT  of  the  scabbard  of  the  night, 
By  God's  hand  drawn, 
Flashes  his  shining  sword  of  light, 
And  lo,  —  the  dawn ! 

STORM 

IN  the  black  jungle  of  the  sky  now  wakes; 
The  Lightning's  writhing  brood  of  fiery  snakes, 
And  lion  Thunder  from  his  lair  of  cloud 
Startles  the  dusky  world  with  challenge  loud. 

DUSK 

UP  from  the  underworld  the  shadows  crowd 
And  ply  with  noiseless  fingers  at  the  loom 
Whereon  they  weave  the  star-embroidered  cloud 
That  screens  the  door  of  Day's  new-builded  tomb. 

STARLIGHT 

OVER  the  rim,  a  fiery  ball, 
God's  hand  the  golden  sun  lets  fall ; 
Then  from  the  blue  deeps  of  the  skies 
The  myriad  white  bubbles  rise. 

[26:  i 


LYRICS  OF  JOY 


A  SEA  FANCY 

THE  bugling  winds  their  solemn  dirges  blow 
Across  a  dreary  waste  of  foam-white  waves. 
Here  is  the  ocean  cemetery.    Lo, 
The  phantom  head-stones  of  the  myriad  graves ! 


MASTERY 

STROLLING  along  the  granite  coast  I  caught 
From  lips  invisible  this  message  clear :  — 
Without  my  strength  the  oceans  rage  were  naught. 
And  I  am  but  the  whisper  in  thine  ear  ! 


DERELICT 

FAR  in  the  distance  looms  a  ship's  dark  hull, 
Aimlessly  tossing  on  an  angry  sea ; 
And,  circling  round,  one  solitary  gull,  — 
White  ponderer  of  this  black  mystery ! 


FOG 

IN  agony  of  death  throughout  the  night 
The  frenzied  monarch  tossed  upon  his  bed 
Whence  rose  at  dawn,  mysterious  and  white, 
A  ghost,  —  the  spectre  of  the  mighty  dead. 
[262] 


KNOWLEDGE 


THE  PENALTY 

IMPLACABLE  and  stern,  the  captive,  Hate, 
In  silence  sits,  too  anger-blind  to  see 
Love's  shining  figure  at  his  prison  gate, 
Longing  to  hear  him  bid  her  turn  the  key. 


LIFE 

LAUNCHED  in  the  darkness  on  an  unknown  sea, 
A  plaything  of  the  winds  and  waves,  I  drift, 
And  ponder  what  the  shores  of  Life  may  be  — 
What  harbor  welcome  when  the  shadows  lift. 


THE  GOAL 

REEDS  for  the  credulous;  but  as  for  me, 
I  choose  to  keep  a  mind  alert  and  free. 
Not  Faith  but  Truth  I  set  me  for  a  goal : 
Toward  that  shining  mark  God  speed  thee,  Soul 


KNOWLEDGE 

FOR  all  Philosophy  may  teach, 
Only  so  far  can  Knowledge  reach : 
All  that  we  know  from  breath  to  breath 
Is  Life  and  its  great  question  —  Death. 
[263! 


LYRICS  OF  JOY 


IN  A  GARDEN 

THROUGHOUT   the   long,   enchanted  summer 
hours, 

In  treasuries  of  honey-wealth  untold, 
Here  in  their  bright  metropolis  of  flowers 
The  banker  bees  are  busy  with  their  gold. 

IVY 

UPON  the  walls  the  graceful  Ivy  climbs 
And  wraps  with  green  the  ancient  ruin  gray  : 
Romance  it  is,  and  these  her  leafy  rhymes 
Writ  on  the  granite  page  of  yesterday. 


GRASS 

HERE  is  the  cloth  whereon  the  dew  and  sun 
Fashion  their  bright  embroideries  of  bloom ; 
For  dreams  a  pillow,  and,  when  dreams  are  done, 
A  fragrant  cover  for  the  dreamless  tomb. 


ROSE 

SCREENING  her  face  of  loveliness  behind 
The  garden's  leafy  curtain,  waits  the  Rose 
For  the  enamored  Nightingale  to  find 
A  lyric  hidden  in  his  book  of  prose. 
[264] 


WRIT  IN   WATER 


DAY  DREAM 


INTO  the  slumber  of  the  Day  there  came 
The  vision  of  a  spirit  winged  with  flame, 
And  down  the  fragrant  air  one  butterfly  — 
Her  golden  dream  —  sailed  indolently  by. 


FIRE  FANCIES 

DEEP  in  the  ashes  one  live  ember 
Lingers  two  similes  to  show : 
June  in  the  arms  of  old  December, 
A  red  rose  in  a  drift  of  snow. 


CITY  SPARROWS 

WITHIN  the  stone  Sahara  of  the  Town 
A  green  oasis  lies  the  open  Square  : 
Hark  to  the  noisy  caravans  of  brown, 
Intrepid  Sparrows,  —  Arabs  of  the  air! 


WRIT  IN  WATER 

RIVER  or  sea,  the  voice  is  still  the  same, 
Each  curving  water-lip  the  word  repeats, 
Forever  rumoring  the  poet's  name, 
And  murmuring  melodiously  —  Keats. 
[265] 


LYRICS  OF  JOY 


CONTRAST 

AUGHT  in  a  crevice  of  the  marble  tomb, 
A  fragile  plant  uplifts  its  hand  of  bloom, 
And  poised  thereon  a  butterfly  takes  breath : 
Fantastic  fellowship  of  Life  and  Death  ! 


A  WISH 

THIS  be  my  wish :  let  all  my  lines 
Across  the  pages  run  like  vines ; 
The  words,  their  shining  blossoms  be ; 
The  book,  a  field  of  melody. 


UNCOLLECTED    POEMS 


UNCOLLECTED  POEMS 


THE  LOOM   OF   SONG 

CARESSED  by  balmy  gales  that  gently  blow 
O'er  tropic  seas  and  fields  of  fragrant  bloom, 
She  sits  before  the  quaint,  ancestral  loom 
And  weaves  the  fabric  faultlessly  and  slow : 
Amid  the  threads  like  flowers  her  fingers  go 
Until  she  almost  breathes  the  faint  perfume 
Distilled  in  Araby  in  twilight's  gloom 
In  gardens  where  the  sweetest  roses  grow. 

So,  on  the  Loom  of  Song,  the  poet  weaves 
New  fabrics  from  the  threads  of  old  romance 

And  fashions  fancies  into  figured  rhyme, 
And  all  about  him  scattered  shreds  he  leaves 
To  be  another's  bright  inheritance  : 

Thus,  ever,  Song  goes  hand  in  hand  with  Time  ! 


ECHO 

HOMELESS  is  she,  forever  wandering 
Among  the  hills  and  in  the  solitudes 
Of  forests  where  no  voice  of  man  intrudes, 
In  whose  deep  stillness  birds  forget  to  sing : 
[  269  ] 


UNCOLLECTED  POEMS 

She  haunts  the  waterfalls,  —  a  hidden  thing 
That  in  the  clouds  of  mist  above  them  broods, 
And  she  it  is  whose  dreamy  interludes 

Murmur  the  secret  of  the  woodland  spring. 

Sister  to  Silence  !    Shadow  of  a  sound ! 
Mirage  of  music  !   Soul  of  melody 

Escaped  and  ever  seeking  realms  of  rest ! 
Mimic  of  brook-songs !    Ghosts  of  the  profound 
And  awe-inspiring  ocean  harmony  ! 

Echo  1  —  Alas,  she  mocks  me  in  my  quest ! 


THE  BROOK  ACCOMPANIMENT 

WHAT  joy  to  rest  beside  the  brook  that  goes 
Singing  along  through  grass  and  tangled 

brush,  — 

A  strain  of  music  in  the  meadow's  hush,  — 
A  lyric  gladdening  the  woodland's  prose,  — 
A  voice  that  burdens  every  breeze  that  blows 
With  mellow  melody  or  gleeful  rush 
Of  rhythmic  rapture  stolen  from  the  thrush,  — 
Nymph  of  the  woods,  whose  every  note  she  knows ! 

Here  on  the  moss,  leaf-sheltered  from  the  sun, 
Where  I  can  breathe  the  fragrance  of  the  trees, 

I  come  to  sit  and  read  my  poet's  book  ;  — 
To  read  and  listen  to  the  water  run, 

Matching  the  poet's  words  with  melodies  — 
Fantastic  obligates  of  the  brook ! 
I  270] 


THE   FORTRESS   OF   SAN   MARCO 


MOONLIGHT 

A  CUP  of  emerald,  the  valley,  dim 
With  purple  shadows,  lies  between  the  hills ; 
Across  the  silence,  from  the  lyric  rills 
Is  breathed  the  music  of  their  vesper  hymn. 
Slowly  the  moon  uplifts  above  the  rim,  — 
A  snow-like  lily  from  whose  chalice  spills 
A  silver  light  whose  soft  enchantment  fills 
The  valley-cup  with  beauty  to  its  brim. 

O  mystery  and  wonder  of  the  night ! 

O  loveliness  of  moonlight  and  the  gleam 
Of  myriad  stars  that  are  the  blossoms  white 

Adrift  and  blown  adown  an  azure  stream ! 
O  miracle  of  rapture  and  delight, 

Transforming  all  the  world  into  a  dream ! 


THE  FORTRESS  OF  SAN  MARCO 

GRAY  as  the  gulls  above,  San  Marco  lies, 
Builded  by  Spain  three  centuries  ago; 
A  star  of  stone  —  a  star  whose  gleam  and  glow 
Are  gone  forever,  blotted  from  our  skies. 
Bastion  and  battlement  before  me  rise 

Storied  with  memories  of  war's  grim  woe, 
But  over  them,  in  balmy  gales  that  blow, 
Triumphantly  the  flag  of  freedom  flies. 
[  271  ] 


UNCOLLECTED  POEMS 

Along  the  ramparts  now  the  lizards  crawl, 

Or  lazily  lie  basking  in  the  sun ; 
Beyond  the  moat  the  sea-tides  lift  and  fall ; 

And  while  I  dream  of  battles  lost  and  won  — 
Sudden  a  voice  !  —  and  then  I  see  him,  small,  — 

A  Yankee  bugler  on  a  Spanish  gun ! 

THE  FAMILIAR  MELODY 

ECHOES  of  song,  ethereal  they  are ; 
Across  the  stillness  of  the  summer  night 
Some  spirit  of  sweet  melody  takes  flight 
And  brings  to  earth  the  message  of  a  star: 
So  faint  the  fairy  notes,  the  leaf-lisps  mar 

The  whispered  dream  of  this  enamored  sprite. 
Softly,  once  more,  O  murmur  of  delight ! 
O  breathed  bliss  of  music  from  afar ! 

In  through  my  window  comes  the  wanderer, 
And  memories  that  have  been,  sleeping  long 

In  the  oblivion  of  bygone  years 
Awake,  and  I  am  listening  to  her 

Whose  voice  made  all  my  boyhood  glad  with  song ; 
Almost  I  see  her  through  the  welling  tears. 

TWILIGHT 

THE  sunset  fades,  and  once  again  the  hills 
Against  the  sky,  majestic  and  supreme, 
Loom  spectrally  and  half  unreal  seem, 
And  mystery  the  misty  valley  fills. 
[272] 


ROMANCE 

Melodiously  now  the  mountain  rills, 

Unheard  by  day,  take  up  their  lyric  theme 
Of  ecstasy,  like  voices  heard  in  dream,  — 

An  obligato  to  the  whippoorwills. 

Invisible,  the  spirits  of  the  dusk 

Ply  the  swift  shuttles  on  their  shadow  loom 

And  weave  the  wonder-fabric  of  the  night : 
The  wind  is  but  a  whisper,  sweet  with  musk 
Exhaled  from  fragrant  lips  of  bud  and  bloom, 
A  whisper  —  and  the  one  word  is  Delight ! 


ROMANCE 

IN  quiet  splendor  fell  the  Southern  night, 
And  wrapt  in  dusk  the  little  city  lay, 
Drowsing,  and  dreaming  of  another  day 
When  Dawn  should  bring  again  its  joy  and  light. 
Above  it  hung  the  new  moon's  crescent  bright, 
And  myriad  stars  along  the  sky's  blue  way 
Gathered  to  wonder  at  their  rivals  gay, 
That  twinkled  o'er  the  Plaza's  pavements  white. 

Idly  I  sauntered  in  the  fragrant  gloom, 
Under  the  lisping  palms,  and  found  the  street 

Where  hung  the  balcony,  cage-like,  above. 
Behind  those  bars  I  saw  a  girl's  face  bloom, 
And  heard  another  Juliet  repeat 

To  me,  her  Romeo,  her  words  of  love. 

[273] 


'UNCOLLECTED  POEMS 


BROADWAY  AT  MIDNIGHT 

THE  theaters  are  out,  and  on  Broadway 
Assembles  now  the  midnight's  motley  show  — 
A  moving  panorama  in  the  glow 
Of  myriad  lamps  that  make  a  mimic  day. 
Here  Wealth  and  Poverty  together  stray ; 

Here  Virtue  walks  with  Vice,  and  does  not  know ; 
And  ever  up  and  down  the  pavements  go 
The  tireless  actors  of  an  endless  play. 

Serene  above  this  busy  whirl  of  life, 
This  human  comedy,  this  rush  and  roar 

And  turmoil  of  interminable  cars, 
Like  mute  spectators  of  our  mortal  strife, 
From  their  blue  balconies  forever  more 
Look  down  in  beauty  the  immortal  stars  I 


THE  END  OF  AUTUMN 

T  T  THAT  fires  are  kindled  in  the  autumn's  urn ! 
V  V    With  leaping  flames  of  purple,  red  and  gold 

The  mountains  tremble,  and  the  frost  fires  cold 
In  multitudinous  meadow  lanterns  burn. 
Dust  is  the  rose's  heart.   The  birds  return 

Southward  with  song.  The  summer's  tale  is  told ; 

And  in  the  silence  now  the  Year,  grown  old, 
Awaits  contentedly  the  end  to  learn. 


THE  LONELY  ROOM 

The  streams  pour  forth  their  sorrow  as  they  go, 
Soft-footed,  down  the  grove's  forsaken  nave ; 

Musician  winds  their  solemn  trumpets  blow, 
Rustling  the  leaf -hung  frieze  and  architrave ; 

And  far  away  in  shining  fields  of  snow 

Winter  is  busy  with  the  Year's  white  grave. 


THE  LONELY  ROOM 

LOVE,  how  I  miss  you  in  this  little  room ! 
Day  were  not  darker  by  the  sun  unblest. 
The  bird  has  flown  and  left  an  empty  nest 
Where  all  is  silence  and  unbroken  gloom. 
It  is  a  garden  whence  the  light  of  bloom 
Is  faded  out ;  a  bower,  the  loneliest, 
Bereft  of  beauty  and  the  happy  guest 
Whose  voice  was  music,  and  whose  breath,  perfume. 

Delay  not,  Sweet ;  absence  already  long 

Burdens  my  heart  with  such  a  grievous  pain 

Hourly  it  seems  that  it  must  yield  or  break. 
Beloved,  hasten  back  and  bring  the  song, 
The  sunlight,  blossoms,  and  the  old  refrain 
Of  ecstasy  —  heart-ease  to  end  heart-ache ! 


[275] 


UNCOLLECTED   POEMS 

ON  A  BRONZE  MEDAL  OF  LINCOLN 
BY  VICTOR  D.   BRENNER 

THIS  bronze  our  Lincoln's  noble  head  doth  bear. 
Behold  the  strength  and  splendor  of  that  face, 
So  homely-beautiful,  with  just  a  trace 
Of  humor  lightening  its  look  of  care ! 
With  bronze  indeed  his  memory  doth  share, 
This  martyr  who  found  freedom  for  a  Race ; 
Both  shall  endure  beyond  the  time  and  place 
That  knew  them  first,  and  brighter  grow  with  wear. 

Happy  must  be  the  genius  here  that  wrought 
These  features  of  the  great  American 

Whose  fame  lends  so  much  glory  to  our  past  — 
Happy  to  know  the  inspiration  caught 
From  this  most  human  and  heroic  man 

Lives  here  to  honor  him  while  Art  shall  last. 

FOR  POPPIES 

THEY  have  the  scarlet  of  her  lips 
Who  gathered  them  for  me ; 
The  pink  of  her  fair  finger-tips 
Upon  their  leaves  I  see. 

Within  their  hearts,  so  it  is  said, 
Is  hidden  that  which  brings 

The  drooping  lid,  the  drowsy  head, 
And  such  somnolent  things. 
[276] 


GYPSY 

Dear  flowers  of  Sleep,  if  this  be  so, 
Grant  me  one  joy  supreme : 

In  slumber  her  sweet  face  to  know  — 
A  poppy,  and  a  dream  ! 

GYPSY 

A  VAGABOND,  I  roam  at  will, 
Where  fancy  leads  I  follow ; 
Now  with  the  stars  upon  the  hill, 
And  now  companion  of  the  rill 
That  murmurs  in  the  hollow. 

All  roads  are  mine,  all  paths  I  take, 

With  staff  and  scrip  beside  me ; 
On  the  green  moss  my  bed  I  make, 
And  at  the  bird's  first  call  I  wake, 
Before  the  sun  has  spied  me. 

The  friend  of  sylvan  folk  am  I ; 

The  leaves  and  ferns  and  grasses 
To  all  my  questions  make  reply, 
And  there  's  no  winged  thing  too  shy 

To  greet  me  as  it  passes. 

Sunshine  or  shower,  I  little  care 
About  the  skies  above  me ; 

My  gypsy  mood  makes  all  things  fair; 

I  am  too  gay  to  court  despair, 

Since  all  earth's  creatures  love  me. 

[277] 


UNCOLLECTED  POEMS 

A  vagabond,  I  leave  the  throng 

Of  cities  far  behind  me, 
Seeking  the  joy  for  which  I  long 
In  haunts  of  happiness  and  song  — 

And  only  song  can  find  me. 


EXPERIENCE 

T  "\  THEN  I  set  free  my  Golden-wing, 
VV       Straight  to  the  open  fields  he  flew, 
But  never  once  I  heard  him  sing 

The  songs  which  in  his  cage  he  knew. 

I  followed  him  and  left  behind 

The  narrow  room  where  came  to  me 

The  dreams  which  I  was  wont  to  bind 
In  sheaves  of  song  and  melody. 

Alas !  the  happy  dreams  no  more 
Would  turn  to  music  on  my  lute : 

Gone  was  the  joy  I  knew  before, 
And  liberty  had  made  me  mute. 

So  now  my  Golden-wing  and  I 
Come  gladly  back  to  cage  and  den 

To  hear  the  dreams  go  singing  by 
And  find  life  full  of  song  again. 


[278] 


AUTUMN   LEAVES 


LABOR  OMNIA  VINCIT 

OUT  of  a  pebble  from  the  desert  sands, 
Found  by  some  dusky  slave  in  tropic  lands, 
The  skillful  lapidary  cuts  a  gem 
To  dazzle  in  the  Sultan's  diadem. 

And  even  so  the  poet's  pebble-thought 
By  long  and  patient  polishing  is  wrought 
Into  the  perfect  symmetry  of  rhyme, — 
A  gem  to  grace  the  diadem  of  Time ! 


AUTUMN  LEAVES 

FLOWER  and  leaf  of  vine  and  tree, 
Grass  of  meadow,  weed  of  mire,1 — 
Summer  gathered  them  to  be 

Faggots  for  the  Autumn's  fire. 

Smoke-like  haze  on  vale  and  hill ; 

Flames  of  gold  and  crimson  bright 
Into  life  now  leap  and  fill 

Field  and  forest  with  their  light. 

All  the  glory  of  the  year 

Kindled  into  beauty  so : 
Soon  the  Winter  will  be  here, 

Soon  the  curfew,  —  then  the  snow. 
[279! 


UNCOLLECTED  POEMS 

So  these  lovely  leaves  I  lay 

In  my  book,  all  gold  and  red ; 

Embers  for  a  winter's  day 

When  the  Autumn's  fire  is  dead. 


THE  TREE  TAVERN 

IN  the  Tavern  of  the  Tree, 
Listen  to  the  revelry ! 
Mark  the  merry  minstrel  there, 
Seated  in  his  leafy  chair, 
At  his  cups  the  whole  day  long, 
Paying  toll  with  silvery  song. 
Every  draught  he  takes  is  drawn 
From  the  cellars  of  the  Dawn ; 
Fragrant  dew  from  flowery  flasks, 
Amber  air  from  fairy  casks 
Brought  from  Araby,  and  bright 
With  the  Orient's  golden  light ; 
Spicery  of  buds  and  vines 
Flavors  his  delicious  wines ; 
Is  it  strange  his  lyrics  hold 
So  much  of  the  summer's  gold  ? 
Rapture  of  the  roses  caught, 
Into  music  deftly  wrought ; 
Run  and  ripple  of  the  rills 
All  translated  in  his  trills ; 
Every  sweet,  enchanted  thing 
In  his  gladness  made  to  sing. 
[  280] 


NOCTURNE 

Ah,  my  mocking-bird,  drink  on 
Till  the  happy  day  is  gone ; 
Till  the  pale  moon  rising  up 
Drops  the  stars  down  in  your  cup ; 
Then  to  dreams  once  more,  and  then 
All  the  world  grows  still  again ! 

NOCTURNE 

THE  shifting  shadows  hide  me : 
Love,  let  the  curtains  part, 
And  light  the  stars  to  guide  me  — 
Your  eyes,  Sweetheart ! 

She  heard  the  music,  note  by  note, 
Across  the  garden's  fragrance  float ; 
Faintly,  at  first,  it  came  as  though 
It  were  the  wind's  voice,  soft  and  low — 
A  ghost  of  song  that  breathed  upon 
The  silence  once,  and  then  was  gone. 
But  soon  it  grew  more  clear  and  sweet ; 
And  soon  her  heart  began  to  beat 
With  joy,  and  mark  the  measured  time 
Of  married  melody  and  rhyme ; 
Then,  through  the  curtains'  folds  of  lace, 
She  looked  and  saw  her  lover's  face. 

The  vines  have  sworn  to  cheat  me  : 
Love,  speak  the  word  to  start 

The  rose  from  dreams  to  greet  me  — 
Your  lips,  Sweetheart ! 


UNCOLLECTED  POEMS 

She  threw  the  lattice  open  wide  — 

A  golden  ray  upon  the  tide 

Of  darkness  fell ;  and  there,  all  still, 

Moon- white  above  the  window-sill, 

Like  some  strange  flower  of  snow,  she  seemed 

To  blossom  while  the  garden  dreamed. 

Far  down,  she  saw  him,  rapt  and  mute' — 

The  lover  with  his  lyric  lute  ;1 

Then,  from  her  bosom,  something  white 

And  fragrant  dropped  down  through  the  night. 

Quickly,  she  threw  the  rose,  and  then 

The  air  grew  sweet  with  song  again. 

The  bright  star  brings  its  token  / 

/  need  no  other  chart. 
The  roses  lips  have  spoken  — 

Good  night.  Sweetheart ! 

A  FIRST  EDITION 

WHENEVER  I  go  strolling  down 
A  bookish  by-way  in  the  town, 
It  is  my  great  delight  to  stop 
Within  the  Bookman's  cosy  shop, 
Where  temptingly  spread  out  to  view 
Are  books  of  all  kinds,  old  and  new, 
Editions  curious  and  rare, 
And  bindings  rich  beyond  compare, 
And  many  of  them  priced  so  high 
One  seldom  can  afford  to  buy. 

[282] 


A  FIRST  EDITION 

At  such  a  time  I  ponder  on 
The  fate  of  Authors  dead  and  gone, 
And  think  how  grateful  some  would  be 
To  sell  their  books  to-day  to  me  — 
To  charge  for  any  volume  sought 
More  than  the  whole  edition  brought  — 
Some  slender  sheaf  of  prose  or  rhyme 
Made  priceless  by  the  touch  of  Time. 
Thus  I  reflect,  and  long  in  vain 
To  own  a  precious  Tamerlane. 

Dear  shade  of  Edgar  Allan  Poe, 
It  is  disquieting  to  know 
How  much  this  very  little  thing 
In  these  degenerate  days  will  bring, 
To  feel  that  you  for  such  a  price 
Hell  could  have  changed  for  Paradise, 
Balked  Poverty  a  while  and  known 
Peace,  which  should  be  a  Poet's  own 
Exorbitant  the  price,  and  yet 
How  small,  considering  the  debt ! 

It  may  be  maddening  to  find 
This  relic  of  a  Past  unkind  : 
A  world's  ingratitude  and  wrong 
Lie  like  a  shadow  on  your  song. 
Yet  this  must  reconcile  you  some, 
To  see,  when  to  this  shop  you  come, 
The  dearest  Poets  on  the  shelf 
Are  William  Shakespeare  and  yourself  — 
[  283  ] 


UNCOLLECTED  POEMS 

Both  vagabonds,  both  Poets  —  Look 
Two  Thousand  Dollars  for  a  Book  I 


THE  HOUSE  OF  DREAMS 

AROUSE  not  built  by  mortals, 
In  summer  days  is  mine : 
Wide  open  stand  its  portals 
All  sweet  with  flower  and  vine. 

Complete  it  is,  capacious 

Each  airy  hall  and  room, 
And  welcome  ever  gracious 

Breathes  from  its  walls  of  bloom. 

I  Ve  music  made  by  fountains, 
By  brooks  and  birds  and  gales ; 

My  epics  are  the  mountains, 
My  lyrics  are  the  vales. 

Frescos  on  every  ceiling 

Painted  by  Morn  and  Night, 

And  every  niche  revealing 
Some  treasure  of  delight. 

Wine  that  is  clear  and  sunny 

My  grassy  cellars  hold, 
And  jars  heaped  full  of  honey 

And  cups  of  fragrant  gold. 
[  284] 


THE   IMMORTAL   FLOWER 

Many  a  leafy  pennant 

Above  my  slumber  streams  : 

I  am  God's  happy  tenant 

In  this  dear  house  of  dreams. 

LIMITATION 

FROM  the  smooth  beach  I  took  one  grain  of  sand 
What  countless  myriads  of  them  must  be 
Piled  up  to  make  the  islands  that  withstand 
The  mighty  onslaught  of  the  surging  sea ! 
And  as  I  pondered  came  the  thought  to  me, 
How  this  great  world  of  water  and  of  land 

To  God  is  but  a  tiny  grain  which  He 
Holds  in  the  hollow  of  His  open  hand. 

THE  IMMORTAL  FLOWER 

LORD,  in  whose  hands  I  am  but  dust 
Make  Thou  of  me  a  vessel  whole, 
Worthy  to  guard  the  precious  soul 
Thou  givest  me  in  trust. 

Keep  me  unmarred  by  strife  and  sin 
Throughout  my  little  span  of  years ; 
Let  Joy's  bright  sun  and  Sorrow's  tears 

Keep  pure  the  flower  therein. 

Grant  if  Thou  wilt  mine  eyes  to  see 
It  grow  to  beauty  at  Thy  feet,  — 
To  find  at  last  the  blossoms  sweet 

Of  Immortality. 

[285] 


UNCOLLECTED  POEMS 

And  when  this  body  that  is  mine,  — 

This  mortal  shape  which  Thou  hast  made, 
Is  dust  and  with  the  earth-dust  laid, 

Lord,  take  the  flower  for  Thine  1 


THE   END 


INDEXES 


INDEX   OF   FIRST   LINES 

A  cup  of  coffee,  eggs,  and  rolls,  27. 

A  cup  of  emerald,  the  valley,  dim,  271. 

A  girl  to  love,  a  pipe  to  smoke,  108. 

A  house  not  built  by  mortals,  284. 

A  little  way  below  her  chin,  15. 

A  lyric  is  a  tiny  bird,  20. 

A  rose  on  a  spray  where  a  brown  bird  sang,  88. 

A  sculptor  is  the  Sun,  I  know,  147. 

A  tiny  fire  within  this  rose,  13. 

A  vagabond,  I  roam  at  will,  277. 

Above  —  a  dome  of  gray;  below,  8. 

Above  the  glowing  embers,  86. 

Above  the  sea  in  splendor,  250. 

Across  the  billowy  meadow  grasses,  7. 

Across  the  level  meadow-land,  4. 

After  the  rain  goes  by,  203. 

After  the  silence  long,  231. 

After  the  winter's  night,  229. 

All  day  I  hear  along  the  sandy  shore,  255. 

All  night  I  heard  along  the  coast,  215. 

All  the  world  is  bright,  23. 

All  up  and  down  in  shadow-town,  172. 

Alone  I  puff  soft  wreaths  of  blue,  36. 

Along  the  margin  of  the  world,  187. 

Along  the  woods'  brown  edge,  229. 

April  !  10. 

April  brought  the  blossoms  out,  166. 

As  any  child,  this  baby  of  the  year 's,  19. 

As  Love  and  I  went  walking,  251. 

Asleep  within  her  marble  room  she  lies,  259. 

At  evening  when  I  go  to  bed,  147. 

At  Naishapiir  his  ashes  lie,  82. 

August,  month  when  summer  lies,  155. 

Awake,  awake,  O  gracious  heart,  68. 

Away  with  melancholy!  168. 

Back  and  forth  the  shuttles  go,  199. 
Bees  don't  care  about  the  snow,  192. 

[  289  ] 


INDEX   OF   FIRST   LINES 

Behind  her  fan  of  downy  fluff,  66. 

Beneath  the  trees  whose  lisping  brood,  126. 

Blooms  in  the  east  when  darkness  goes,  97. 

Blossom,  little  stars,  and  fill,  107. 

Blow,  wind  of  March,  and  sing,  9. 

By  day  in  Allah's  azure  urn,  98. 

By  Dorothy  in  Cambridge  town,  56. 

By  night  he  spreads  his  white  rays  down,  194. 

By  the  fire  that  loves  to  tint  her,  43. 

Captives  to  winter's  cruel  king,  186. 
Caressed  by  balmy  gales  that  gently  blow,  269. 
Caught  in  a  crevice  of  the  marble  tomb,  266. 
Close  by  the  margin  tufts  of  grass,  12. 
Come,  Pan,  and  pipe  upon  the  reed,  64. 
Creeds  for  the  credulous;  but  as  for  me,  263. 
Cupid,  goe  to  Her  in  haste,  48. 
Cupid,  tell  me  how  to  twine,  67. 

Day  to  my  heart,  121. 

Dear  Heart,  do  you  remember,  244. 

Dear  old  Nantucket's  isle  of  sand,  236. 

Dear  Priscilla,  quaint,  and  very,  40. 

Dear  Rose,  what  volumes  it  would  need  to  hold,  255. 

December's  come  and  with  her  brought,  158. 

Deep  in  the  ashes  one  live  ember,  265. 

Deep  in  the  woods,  amid  the  giant  trees,  258. 

Deep  lies  the  snow  on  wood  and  field,  234. 

Divinely  shapen  cup,  thy  lip,  89. 

Down  in  a  garden  olden,  198. 

Echoes  of  song,  ethereal  they  are,  272. 

Far  in  the  distance  looms  a  ship's  dark  hull,  262. 
February,  —  fortnights  two,  150. 
Flower  and  leaf  of  vine  and  tree,  279. 
For  all  Philosophy  may  teach,  263. 
For  months  I  had  suffered  derision,  45. 
For  you  these  tiny  flowers  are  cut,  18. 
Friend,  stay  your  steps  awhile  before,  136. 
From  Paradise  what  soul  with  wings,  85. 
From  sunrise  to  the  set  of  sun,  214. 
From  the  marble  of  his  thought,  93. 

[  290  ] 


INDEX  OF   FIRST  LINES 

From  the  minster's  organ-loft,  80. 

From  the  smooth  beach  I  took  one  grain  of  sand,  285. 

From  the  sunny  climes  of  France,  74. 

From  these  downy  flakes  of  snow,  170. 

From  what  mystery  of  space,  79. 

Ghosts  of  departed  winged  things,  88. 

Give  me  my  happy  poet's  book,  83. 

Give  me  the  room  whose  every  nook,  137. 

Glass,  wherein  a  Greek  girl's  tears,  213. 

Go,  Heliotrope,  109. 

Go,  little  book  with  heart  of  rhyme,  140. 

Go,  Rose,  and  in  her  golden  hair,  106. 

Goe,  little  Rhyme,  I  greete  Her,  47. 

Golden  locks  in  cunning  curl,  69. 

Good  Winter,  hear  this  wish  I  write,  113. 

Gracefulest  of  buoyant  things,  224. 

Gray  as  the  gulls  above,  San  Marco  lies,  271. 

Hark  at  the  lips  of  this  pink  whorl  of  shell,  18. 

He  was  the  first  to  welcome  Spring,  215. 

Heedless  how  it  may  fare  with  Time,  240. 

Her  china  cup  is  white  and  thin,  66. 

Her  greeting  is  a  dulcet  bell,  253. 

Her  scuttle  Hatt  is  wondrous  wide,  65. 

Here  are  roses  red,  252. 

Here  is  the  cloth  whereon  the  dew  and  sun,  264. 

Here's  a  lyric  for  September,  155. 

High  in  the  old  cathedral  tower  they  hung,  260. 

His  forehead  he  fringes  and  decks,  72. 

His  home  is  yonder  in  the  sky,  174. 

Homeless  is  she,  forever  wandering,  269. 

Hour  after  hour  relentlessly  the  sun,  257. 

Humming-bird,  163. 

I  care  not  that  the  snow  lies  deep,  in. 

I  heard  a  sweet  voice  singing  in  the  night,  95. 

"I  love  you,"  he  whispered  low,  24. 

I  often  sit  and  wish  that  I,  168. 

I  read  the  verses  from  my  copy,  34. 

I  smile,  and  then  the  Sun  comes  out,  176. 

If  any  grace,  21. 

Implacable  and  stern,  the  captive,  Hate,  263. 

[  29I   ] 


INDEX   OF   FIRST   LINES 

In  agony  of  death  throughout  the  night,  262. 

In  her  dark  hair  a  lustrous  jewel  gleams,  98. 

In  Nature's  open  book,  99. 

In  quiet  splendor  fell  the  Southern  night,  273. 

In  the  black  jungle  of  the  sky  now  wakes,  261. 

In  the  day  or  night,  179. 

In  the  green  woods  is  the  brook,  223. 

In  the  hush  of  the  night  he  heard,  91. 

In  the  pasture's  clover  deep,  131. 

In  the  soft  wind  that  blows,  126. 

In  the  Tavern  of  the  Tree,  280. 

In  this  white  world  of  wonder,  230. 

In  vain  the  quest:  no  mortal  eyes  may  know,  257. 

In  winter,  when  the  wind  I  hear,  162. 

Into  the  slumber  of  the  Day  there  came,  265. 

It  is  my  joy  in  life  to  find,  228. 

It  matters  not  how  far  I  fare,  246. 

It  was  the  middle  of  the  night,  205. 

January,  bleak  and  drear,  149. 
Jasmines  tangled  in  her  hair,  24. 
July,  for  you  the  songs  are  sung,  154. 

Lady,  at  your  lattice  I,  51. 

Launched  in  the  darkness  on  an  unknown  sea,  263. 

Let  a  song  be  softly  sung,  119. 

Let  me  a  garland  twine,  225. 

Let  us  go  forth  and  meet  her,  122. 

Lift  the  oars  and  let  us  go,  3. 

Like  mimic  meteors  the  snow,  9. 

Listen  to  the  tawny  thief,  19. 

Little  drop  of  dew,  182. 

Little  mimic  of  the  sun,  15. 

Lonely  once,  my  love  away,  112. 

Long  centuries  ago,  those  Persian  boys,  204. 

Long  time  she  sat,  yet  never  touched  a  string,  118. 

Long  years  ago  there  lived  a  King,  159. 

Long  years  within  its  sepulchre,  101. 

Lord,  in  whose  hands  I  am  but  dust,  285. 

Love,  at  your  door  young  Cupid  stands,  1 10. 

Love,  how  I  miss  you  in  this  little  room!  275. 

Love  I  locked  upon  a  time,  22. 

Love,  throw  thy  lattice  open  to  the  night,  120. 

[  292  ] 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

Love,  when  we  parted,  you  and  I,  115. 
Lying  beside  the  margin  of  the  deep,  98. 

Madrigals  and  catches  caught,  2. 

March!  and  all  the  winds  cry,  March!  150. 

May  shall  make  the  world  anew,  152. 

Meadows  lost  in  clouds  of  mist,  6. 

Muse,  grant  me  some  new  simile  to  sing,  61. 

Mute  the  music  of  the  fiddle,  49. 

My  heart  was  winter-bound  until,  247. 

My  Love  is  like  a  Winter  rose,  252. 

My  songs  are  all  for  her,  247. 

Nandc,  the  faithful,  pausing  once  to  pray,  95. 

No  leaf  is  stirring  in  the  tree,  125. 

Not  his  alone  the  gift  divine,  220. 

Now  hide  the  flowers  beneath  the  snow,  173. 

Now  since  it  knows,  241. 

Now  winter  fills  the  world  with  snow,  181. 

O  June!  delicious  month  of  June,  153. 

O  nightingale  among  the  leaves,  43. 

O  robin  in  the  cherry-tree,  164. 

O  white  moon  sailing  down  the  sky,  161. 

October  is  the  month  that  seems,  156. 

Of  all  the  threads  of  rhyme,  218. 

Of  books  I  sing,  but  not  of  those,  139. 

Oftentimes  there  come  to  me,  100. 

Once  in  the  morning  when  the  breeze,  197. 

Once,  long  ago,  in  some  sweet  garden's  hush,  19. 

Once,  when  the  doors  of  night  were  open  thrown,  59. 

One  morning  in  the  garden,  187. 

One  morning  when  the  rain  was  done,  192. 

Only  a  whispering  gale,  79. 

Out  of  a  pebble  from  the  desert  sands,  279. 

Out  of  a  pellucid  brook,  164. 

Out  of  my  window  I  could  see,  146. 

Out  of  the  purple  drifts,  211. 

Out  of  the  scabbard  of  the  night,  261. 

Out  of  the  sky  they  come,  184. 

Outdoors  the  white  rain  coming  down,  151. 

Outside,  the  blasts  of  winter  blow,  68. 

Over  the  convent  wall,  117. 

[  293  1 


INDEX   OF  FIRST  LINES 

Over  the  rim,  a  fiery  ball,  261. 
Over  valley,  over  hill,  188. 

River  or  sea,  the  voice  is  still  the  same,  265. 

Rose  in  the  garden-close,  17. 

Roses  are  the  rhymes  I  wreathe,  253. 

Santa  Claus,  I  hang  for  you,  165. 

Scamper,  little  leaves,  about,  178. 

Screening  her  face  of  loveliness  behind,  264. 

See,  yonder,  the  belfry  tower,  85. 

Seraglio  of  the  Sultan  Bee!  97. 

She  finds  companionship  in  field  and  wood,  63. 

She  wears  a  most  bewitching  bang,  71. 

Slender  strips  of  crimson  sky,  4. 

Slight  is  the  thing  it  needs  to  wake,  217. 

Slumber,  slumber,  little  one,  now,  193. 

Softly  the  little  wind  goes  by,  216. 

Song  like  a  rose  should  be,  116. 

Spring  is  the  morning  of  the  year,  148. 

Still  on  the  corner  stands  the  school,  53. 

Strange  how  much  sentiment,  38. 

Strolling  along  the  granite  coast  I  caught,  262. 

Sweetheart,  comes  laughing  April  now,  248. 

Sweetheart,  the  buds  are  on  the  tree,  249. 

Sweetheart,  the  year  is  young,  25. 

Sweetheart,  when  rhymes  I  make,  104. 

'T  was  spring  when  I  first  found  it  out,  31. 

The  air  is  keen,  the  sky  is  clear,  133. 

The  bugling  winds  their  solemn  dirges  blow,  262. 

The  days  come,  93. 

The  fence  on  either  side  is  down,  129. 

The  garden  is  a  royal  court,  183. 

The  little  leaves  upon  the  trees,  190. 

The  meadow  is  a  battle-field,  160. 

The  shifting  shadows  hide  me,  281. 

The  sky  is  full  of  clouds  to-day,  177. 

The  soft  wind  whispered  secrets  to  the  apple  tree,  16. 

The  songs  I  make,  they  are  not  mine,  219. 

The  sturdy  wind  that  fills  the  ship's  white  sail,  18. 

The  sun  sank  red  in  the  dull  gray  west,  130. 

The  sunset  fades,  and  once  again  the  hills,  272. 

I  294  ] 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

The  theatres  are  out,  and  on  Broadway,  274. 

The  white  stars  blossom  in  the  skies,  58. 

The  woodland  brooks  that  murmur  as  they  go,  148. 

There  came  a  day  in  winter  when  the  sun,  258. 

There  is  a  funny  fellow,  174. 

There's  a  word  in  my  heart,  dare  I  tell  it?  32. 

There  was  a  time,  fond  girl,  when  you,  29. 

They  gather  round  him,  one  and  all,  200. 

They  have  the  scarlet  of  her  lips,  276. 

This  be  my  wish:  let  all  my  lines,  266. 

This  bronze  our  Lincoln's  noble  head  doth  bear,  276. 

This  is  a  naiad's  drinking  cup,  128. 

This  is  brave  Harro's  story,  221. 

This  is  what  a  fairy  heard,  171. 

Thou  feathered  minstrel  perched  in  yonder  tree,  256. 

Three  giant  fir- trees  reach  their  arms,  12. 

Throughout  the  long,  enchanted  summer  hours,  264. 

Tinkle,  tinkle!  193. 

To  lie  beneath  a  cloudless  sky,  n. 

Unto  his  parching  lips  a  cup,  134. 

Up  from  the  underworld  the  shadows  crowd,  261. 

Up  in  her  balcony  where,  103. 

Up  in  your  cage  of  gold,  176. 

Up,  slender  vine,  your  love  is  mine,  106. 

Upon  a  mottled,  tawny  leopard-skin,  61. 

Upon  a  mountain-summit  high,  90. 

Upon  the  walls  the  graceful  Ivy  climbs,  264. 

Voice  of  the  wind,  of  singing  brook  and  bird,  217. 

Wee,  little  rimless  wheel  of  Fate,  14. 
What  fires  were  kindled  in  the  autumn's  urn!  274. 
What  joy  to  rest  beside  the  brook  that  goes,  270. 
What  magic  flutes  are  these  that  make,  232. 
What  time  the  night-bird  to  the  rose,  28. 
When  all  the  ground  with  snow  is  white,  197. 
When  blossoms  born  of  balmy  spring,  73. 
When  I  set  free  my  Golden- wing,  278. 
When  I  spin  round  without  a  stop,  175. 
When  I  was  but  a  lad  of  eight,  52. 
When  I  was  young,  and  long  before,  145. 
When  I  was  young  I  made  a  vow,  211. 

[  295  1 


INDEX  OF   FIRST  LINES 

When  in  her  lap  you  lie,  35. 

When  out-of-doors  is  full  of  rain,  189. 

When  pale  Selene,  in  her  crescent  boat,  59. 

When  study  and  school  are  over,  196. 

When  Summer  comes  and  brings  the  rose,  92. 

When  the  open  fire  is  lit,  180. 

When  the  sun  shines,  then  I  see,  191. 

When  twilight  conies,  and  nature  stills,  64. 

When  Winter  hushes  for  a  time,  234. 

Whenever  I  go  strolling  down,  282. 

Where  heedless  winds  around  him  blow,  98. 

White  in  her  woven  shroud,  212. 

Who  can  tell  us  whence  they  come,  184. 

Who  shall  sing  to  bleak  November,  157. 

Whoso  enters  at  this  portal,  242. 

Why  all  the  stars  in  the  sky  are  so  bright,  190. 

Winged  wanderer  from  clover  meadows  sweet,  60. 

Within  a  belfry  built  of  bloom,  233. 

Within  a  spot  where  slept  the  silent  dead,  62. 

Within  the  meadow  of  Time's  book,  135. 

Within  the  stone  Sahara  of  the  Town,  265. 

Within  this  silent  palace  of  the  Night,  97. 

Wondrous  things  have  come  to  pass,  169. 

Worn  is  the  winter  rug  of  white,  235. 

You  who  at  my  elbow  sit,  114. 


INDEX   OF   TITLES 


Ad  Astra,  107. 
Allah's  House,  95. 
Anemone,  147. 
Apple  Blossoms,  16. 
April,  19. 
April,  151. 
April,  231. 
April  Carol,  An,  10. 
Arbutus,  229. 
Archer,  The,  174. 
Aspiration,  135. 
At  Midnight,  85. 
At  the  Door,  28. 
Attainment,  93. 
August,  155. 
Autumn  Leaves,  279. 
Avowal,  An,  32. 
"Awake,  Awake,"  68. 

Bacchus,  19. 

Backlog  Dreams,  86. 

Bees,  192. 

Behind  her  Fan,  66. 

Betrayal,  258. 

Betrothal,  A,  24. 

Bird's  Elegy,  A,  215. 

Birds'  Music,  190. 

Blossoms,  146. 

Book-Hunter,  The,  27. 

Books,  135. 

Book,  To  his,  140. 

Bower  of  Cupid,  The,  242. 

Breath  of  Song,  80. 

Breezes  of  Morning,  59. 

Broadway  at  Midnight,  274. 

Bronze  Medal  of  Lincoln  by  Victor 

D.  Brenner,  On  a,  276. 
Brook  Accompaniment,  The,  270. 
Bunch  of  Quatrains,  A,  18. 
Bundle  of  Letters,  A,  38. 
Buttercups,  On  some,  15. 
Butterfly  in  Wall  Street,  A,  60. 


Canary,  The,  176.     • 

Canoe  Song,  224. 

Catch,  A,  21. 

Cathedral  Bells,  The,  260. 

Charm,  The,  217. 

Cherries,  166. 

Christmas  Cat,  The,  205. 

Cigar,  A,  36. 

City  Sparrows,  265. 

Clock,  On  a,  112. 

Clouds,  177. 

Colonial  Missive,  A,  56. 

Come,  Pan,  and  Pipe,  64, 

Confession,  211. 

Contentment,  108. 

Contrast,  98. 

Contrast,  266. 

Coquette,  A,  71. 

Cupid,  To,  67. 

Cupid,  February  14,  To,  48. 

Daisies,  147. 
Daisy,  To  a,  14. 
Dancing  Gypsy,  The,  6l. 
Dandelion,  To  a,  15. 
Dawn,  261. 
Dawn  and  Dusk,  4. 
Day  Dream,  265. 
Day's  Shroud,  The,  214. 
Daybreak,  134. 
December,  158. 
Derelict,  262. 
Dewdrop,  A,  182. 
Dies  Ultima,  212. 
Dirge,  119. 

Dobson,  Austin,  To,  74. 
Dreams,  184. 
Dusk,  261. 

Echo,  269. 

Elfin  Lamps,  190. 

End  of  Autumn,  The,  274. 


[297] 


INDEX   OF   TITLES 


Engaged,  49. 
Eternity  Lane,  129. 
Experience,  278. 

Fairies'  Dance,  The,  197. 

Fairy  Jewels,  161. 

Fairy  Shipwreck,  192. 

Fairy  Story,  A,  171. 

Familiar  Melody,  The,  272. 

Fancy,  3. 

FANCY,  77,  209. 

Fancy,  To,  79. 

February,  9. 

February,  150. 

Fire  Fancies,  265. 

First  Edition,  A,  282. 

Fly-Leaf  to  the  Reader,  The,  136. 

Flying  Kite,  168. 

Fog,  262. 

Footprints  in  the  Snow,  235. 

For  Music,  247. 

For  Poppies,  276. 

For  Saynte  Valentyne,  his  Daye,  47. 

Forgotten  Books,  139. 

Fortress  of  San  Marco,  The,  271. 

Four  Winds,  The,  162. 

French  Follies,  64. 

Fulfilment,  91. 

Funny  Fellow,  A,  174. 

Garland,  A,  225. 
Ghost  Fairies,  180. 
Glow-Worm,  A,  12. 
Goal,  The,  263. 
Golden-Rod,  148. 
Good-Night,  58. 
Grass,  264. 
Greek  Vase,  On  a,  89. 
Greeting  for  Spring,  A,  122. 
Gypsy,  277. 

Harbor  of  Dreams,  The,  79. 

Harro,  221. 

Heliotrope,  109. 

Her  China  Cup,  66. 

Her  Guitar,  43. 

Her  Smile  his  Sunlight,  104. 

Herrick,  With,  223. 

Hide-and-Seek,  173. 


His  Desire,  218. 
His  Starlight,  114. 
Hollyhock,  A,  97. 
Honeysuckles,  233. 
House  of  Dreams,  The,  284. 
Humming-bird  Song,  163. 

Ice-Prisoner,  The,  8. 

Idyllic,  ii. 

Immortal  Flower,  The,  285. 

In  a  Garden,  264. 

In  Absence,  246. 

In  an  Old  Garden,  12. 

In  Parenthesis,  34. 

In  the  Clover,  131. 

In  the  Meadow,  160. 

In  the  Orchard,  164. 

Indian  Summer,  7. 

Interpreter,  The,  220. 

Israfel,  85. 

Ivy,  264. 

January,  149. 
Jester  Bee,  183. 
Juggler,  The,  170. 
Juliet,  To,  240. 
July,  154- 
June,  153- 

King  Bell,  159. 
Knowledge,  263. 
Kriss  Kringle,  168. 

Labor  Omnia  Vincit,  279. 

Last  Letter,  The,  101. 

Leaves  at  Play,  178. 

Library,  The,  137. 

Life,  263. 

Limitation,  285. 

Lincoln,  On  a  Bronze  Medal  of,  276. 

LITTLE-FOLK  LYRICS,  143. 

Lonely  Room,  The,  275. 

Loom  of  Song,  The,  269. 

LOVE,  100,  240. 

Love's  Seasons,  31. 

Love's  Springtide,  247. 

Lullaby,  193. 

Lyric,  A:  "A  lyric  is  a  tiny  bird," 


INDEX   OF   TITLES 


Lyric,  A :  "Lady,  at  your  lattice  I,"  51 . 

Lyrics,  99. 

LYRICS  FOR  A  LUTE,  77. 

LYRICS  OF  JOY,  209. 

Madrigal,  A:  "All     the     world     is 

bright,"  23. 
Madrigal,  A:  "Sweetheart,  the  year 

is  young,"  25. 

MADRIGALS  AND  CATCHES,  i. 
March,  150. 
March  Wind,  The,  9. 
Mastery,  262. 
May,  152. 
May-Children,  186. 
May  Madrigal,  A,  249. 
May  Morning,  232. 
Memories,  118. 
Memories,  251. 
Miss    Thomas's    "A    New    Year's 

Masque,"  63. 
Mnemosyne's  Mirror,  92. 
Mocking  Bird,  To  a,  256. 
Moods,  90. 
Moonlight,  271. 
Moonlight  and  Music,  244. 
Moonrise,  97. 
Morning  Mist,  4. 
Moths,  88. 
Muse,  The,  45. 
Muse,  The,  219. 
Music,  257. 
My  April,  248. 
My  Love,  To,  68. 
My  Message,  To,  35. 

Naiad's  Cup,  The,  128. 

Nantucket,  236. 

NATURE,  122,  229. 

Nobility,  18. 

Nocturne:  "Above  the  sea  in  splen 
dor,"  250. 

Nocturne:  "Love,  throw  thy  lattice 
open  to  the  night,"  120. 

Nocturne:  "The  shifting  shadows  hide 
me,"  281. 

Noontide,  125. 

November,  157. 

Nun's  Rose,  The,  117. 


October,  156. 

Of  Rhyme,  73. 

Old  Garden,  In  an,  12. 

Old  Rondo,  An,  65. 

Old  Song,  An,  100. 

Omar,  The  Story  of,  204. 

Omar  Khayyam,  82. 

On  a  Bronze  Medal  of  Lincoln  by 

Victor  D.  Brenner,  276. 
On  a  Clock,  112. 
On  a  Greek  Vase,  89. 
On  some  Buttercups,  15. 

Pacific  Dawn,  A,  59. 

"  Pansies  for  Thoughts,"  18. 

Pebbles,  164. 

Penalty,  The,  263. 

Pepita,  103. 

Perpetuity,  95. 

Persian  Dancing  Girl,  A,  24. 

Persian  Nocturne,  A,  43. 

Poet,  The,  217. 

Poppies,  For,  276. 

Prayer,  A,  228. 

Priscilla,  A  Rhyme  for,  40. 

Quatrain,  A:  "Hark  at  the  lips  of  this 

pink  whorl  of  shell,"  18. 
QUATRAINS,  18,  97,  261. 
Quatrains,  A  Bunch  of,  18. 

Rain-Harp,  The,  189. 
Rainbow,  The,  203. 
Real  Santa  Claus,  A,  165 
Re-awakening,  62. 
Red  Rose,  A,  19. 
Remembrance,  121. 
Reminiscence,  A,  29. 
Revery,  83. 
Rhyme,  Of,  73. 
Rhyme  for  Priscilla,  A,  40. 
Robin's  Apology,  187. 
Romance,  273. 
Rose,  264. 
Rose,  To  a,  106. 
Rose,  With  a,  13. 
Rose  Lore,  241. 
Rose  Lyric,  A,  17. 
Rose's  Cup,  The,  198. 


[299] 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


Saint  Rose,  255. 

Saynte  Valentyne,  his  Daye,  For,  47. 

Sea  Fancy,  A,  262. 

Sea  Ghost,  A,  215. 

Secret,  216. 

September,  155. 

Shadow  Children,  191. 

Shadow  Pictures,  179. 

Shadows,  The,  172. 

Shower,  The,  257. 

Sky-Ship,  The,  126. 

Smiles  and  Tears,  176. 

Snare,  A,  22. 

Snow  Song,  188. 

Snow's  Dreamer,  The,  259. 

Snow-Bird,  The,  197. 

Snow- Weaver,  The,  199. 

Snowflakes,  184. 

Soldiers  of  the  Sun,  187. 

Song,  116. 

Song:  "Her  greeting  is  a  dulcet  bell," 

253- 
Song:    "Roses    are    the    rhymes   I 

wreathe,"  253. 
Song  for  Winter,  181. 
Song's  Echo,  A,  252. 
SONNETS,  59,  255. 
Sorcery,  88. 
Spinning  Top,  175. 
Spring 's  Coming,  148. 
Starlight,  261. 
Storm,  130. 
Storm,  261. 

Story  of  Omar,  The,  204. 
Story-Teller,  The,  200. 
Strategy,  61. 
Summer,  6. 
Sun  and  Moon,  98. 
Sunrise,  97. 
Surf  Music,  98. 
Surf  Music,  255. 
Swell,  A,  72. 

Tear  Bottle,  A,  213. 
Time's  Song,  93. 
To  a  Daisy,  14. 
To  a  Dandelion,  15. 
To  a  Mocking  Bird,  256. 


To  a  Rose,  106. 

To  Austin  Dobson,  74. 

To  Cupid,  67. 

To  Cupid,  February  41,  48. 

To  Fancy,  79. 

To  Her,  247. 

To  his  Book,  140. 

To  Juliet,  240. 

To  my  Father,  2. 

To  my  Love,  68. 

To  my  Message,  35. 

To  the  Little  Readers,  145. 

To  Winter,  113. 

Tree  Tavern,  The,  280. 

Twilight,  272. 

Two  Songs,  253. 

UNCOLLECTED  POEMS,  267. 
Under  her  Balcony,  106. 
Unspoken,  115. 
Untutored  Mind,  An,  52. 

Vacation  Song,  146. 

Valentine  to  an  Anonymous  Miss, 

69. 

Valentines,  no. 
Village  School,  The,  53. 
Violet,  230. 

Waterfall,  The,  193. 
When  Twilight  comes,  64. 
White  Magic,  234. 
Winter,  To,  113. 
Winter  Dreams,  234. 
Winter  Pool,  The,  258. 
Winter  Starlight,  133. 
Winter's  Acrobats,  194. 
Winter's  Beggar,  98. 
Wish,  A,  266. 
Witchery,  211. 
With  a  Rose,  13. 
With  Herrick,  223. 
With  Roses,  252. 
Wizard  Frost,  169. 
Woodland  Spring,  A,  126. 
Writ  in  Water,  265. 

Year's  Day,  The,  229. 


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